Cold Body, Warm Heart
by YourLoyalBlogger
Summary: After a zombie epidemic, Lock (an unusual introspective zombie and former detective), encounters John Watson, an army doctor and human surviour and rescues him during a zombie attack. John quickly realises Lock is not like the others and both embark on an adventure that will change them move and transform the world.. (crappy summary is crappy)
1. Chapter 1

**Another new fic and I'm still not finished with And The Stars Shone Brightly. I just saw the Warm Bodies movie today and wanted to write this fic. Idk how long it will be, how long it will take but my muse won't leave me alone. So... enjoy?**

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I don't know how it began, no one does and anyone that did is too far gone to tell us. One moment everything was normal, there were no zombies, no skeletons, life was probably good. Probably not boring. And then something must have happened; a virus perhaps, radiation is unlikely, a scientific experiment gone wrong? Honestly no one really knows. But then most of us have little cause to care about the reason. If any of us care at all. Being dead does that to a person.

I don't remember how I died, if it hurt or if there was anyone in my old life that cared for me. But, if I try really hard to remember I can recall a word, I wasn't sure what it meant at first, I'm still not certain but I decided to adopt it as my name.

Hi, I'm Lock, I'm a zombie and its been one week since my last meal.

* * *

I live in the dead part of London. That's supposed to be a joke. But I'm not good at jokes. It's dark and empty and boring. Everything's boring. That's death for you. You spend all day slowly moving around, some bodies have set routes they follow every day. Others explore new places. Theres an old woman in the park, who keeps walking around in a circle. We walk all day and then go home at night. Most zombies don't have a place they call home. They might have an area they spend time in at night when the skeletons, the Bonies come to hunt, but as soon as the day breaks, they shuffle along to do whatever it is we zombies do all day. Which isn't really much of anything. We don't have jobs. Though some of us still think we do.

I live at 221b something street. There used to be a sign but it's long gone now. I think someone else used to live here as there is another flat below mine. A woman, middle aged or older. I'm not sure why but when I look around in those rooms that's what springs to mind. The same thing happens with people. There's a man at the end of this street, I can tell by his left thumb that he was a pilot, he had an allergy to peanuts and at the time of his death was thinking of leaving his wife. I can tell this simply by looking at him. And yet I don't know how. Or if anyone else can do this. It just seems so obvious to me.

My home is cluttered with things I bring home. Zombies don't sleep so I occupy my time when not shuffling and groaning through London, by collecting various objects. Old books and papers, curious artefacts, a harpoon. There's also a skull. But I think he was a friend. I own a violin that I can't play. Zombie fingers aren't exactly conductive for playing music. I'd call it frustrating except I don't exactly have emotions.

I usually spend a few hours in my home until the sun comes up. My morning routine is to leave the house, limp through the streets of London until I get to a hospital. Hospital's are good sources of food as the living make the stupid mistake of looking for resources there. This one seems to hold significance for me because I always seem to end up there unconsciously. I like to sit in the morgue. There's no longer in any bodies there anymore.

It just feels like I am supposed to be there. Ha, feels. I'd laugh if I could remember how to.

The rest of the day is spent wandering. None of us have anywhere to be. And the only time we do something on purpose is when we get hungry and go on a hunt. We usually group together, not sure why, it seems to make more sense then going alone. I don't particularly enjoy going on a hunt, I feel like a freak, a monster when I bite into the flesh of a living person. But it's the only way to survive. And I am a freak, I'm dead and my brain won't shut up.

I don't know where I am, I don't think I've wandered out this far before. I better turn back.

* * *

**JOHN**

It started five years ago, a fucking zombie apocalypse. I'd just returned home from war to walk straight into another one. At first it was small and now it seems like the whole world is coming to an end. It's funny, all those zombie movies I used to watch have now come to life. Except theres no turning off this movie and returning to reality. This is real life. The zombies here aren't special effects or actors in a costume. They were real living people once. Friends, brothers, sisters. Parents and children who are now re-animated corpses. Although for the dead their bodies are remarkably in good condition. I guess Hollywood got that one wrong.

As soon as I returned home from war, myself and the others with me were whisked away to safety. We were immediately put to work protecting the survivors. I was relieved to see my sister was among them. Plus a few old faces. As an army doctor I spend much of my time in the makeshift hospitals, taking care of the sick and the wounded. Even though we are walled off from the zombies in London, we still get survivors who make the long trek from the suburbs in search of safety. They have to spend a week being screened and checked over and over again. Until we are sure they are safe. Those in charge won't tell us what happened, so we have to be sure no one shows sign of having been bitten.

In those sad cases where they have we give them a choice while they still have enough brain power to make it. Stay in the compound and tidy up your affairs and then be shot, or take your chances outside the wall. Most don't want to take the risk of escaping and attacking their loved ones and opt for a quick death. Our lives here are dismal. Theres no life among the living. Children don't laugh and play in the streets, we have electricty but theres never any music playing outside, no tv's in the windows. People run their errands and then escape to their homes at night. We are lucky we have room. This part of London has underground shelters and tunnels from the last big war. Many of us live above the ground if theres room.

My sister and me live in a small flat with two other doctors and a nurse next to the hospital. Her alcoholism is no more. Turns out being in an apocalypse can either scare you straight or break you down. She's a secretary for one of the storage rooms. She helps organises the supplies for each sector. There's five in total. Government, Military, Medical, Supply and Food. Civilians can live in all five but most live in the large two. Each is colour coded. Government is White, Military is Black, Medical is Red, Supply is Blue and Food is Green. Me and Harriet, my sister, live in the Red Sector.

And this is as good as it gets.

* * *

We've worked out there are two types of zombie. Theres the ones with flesh and the ones without. It's the ones without you have to worry about. You can outrun a flesh zombie, but you are pressing your luck if you try and outrun a bonie. And they travel in packs. All zombies in the end turn to bonies. The last pieces of humanity are ripped from their bodies.

I've fought my fair share of zombies and a few bonies even and am still here to tell the tale. It's stupid I know, to venture out into the unknown in search of resources. But I'll tell you a secret. I enjoy it. I miss the thrill I got from war. I'm not a bad person, war is terrible. But it's an adventure nonetheless. And I need that. So any chance I get to leave I take it. Harry hates it.

But without it we wouldn't be able to survive as long as we have. I usually try and bring something back to cheer her up. It's important to stay on good terms with your family. So many of us have lost people. Theres a silver haired police officer who guards the medical area and sometimes supply that always has a sad look on his face. I think he lost his son, at least thats what I heard. He used to be a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard but theres not much need for that now. But he likes to feel useful. Theres also a government official I've seen drive past a few times towards the White Sector. Once I saw him sitting in Cafe Z (black humour, don't you love it?), his eyes were dead, like all hope was lost. He looks as if the world wasn't ending, his suits are always perfect, his hair never and inch out of place and he carries this umbrella everywhere.

Like he still has everything. But when people aren't looking, he sighs and you think he's going to cry but his stiff upper lip never quivers. I asked about him once. He was pretty high up in the Government before everything turned to shit. But he lost his little brother and he's given up hope of ever finding him. For his sake I hope his brother died a quick death and stayed dead.

The sirens crying, I have work to do, theres a lot of sick people here.


	2. Chapter 2

**SHERLOCK**

Everyone's unusually active today. That must mean a hunt. When we are hungry, we're more restless than usual. I can't describe the feeling. When you are living, your stomach reminds you when you're hungry, when you're dead your stomach can no longer provide that response. You just...know. I always put it off, it serves no useful purpose except to keep me undead and not deaddead. Sometimes the brains are nice. Which is disgusting really. But when you eat the brains of the living, you acquire their memories. It seems ridiculous but I have experienced it myself. It's the only time I feel alive.

My door makes a thudding sound. Zombies can't knock. Or at least they don't have the manners to anymore. I stumble over to the door and open it. It's A. Sometime after I died he found me. I think we used to know each other. He used to be a cook, before that he was in prison for a short time. I'm not sure how I know this. I look at him and it pops into my head.

"Hhrng." A inquires, gesturing his head towards the street. _Come outside?_

"Nrngh" I reply, nodding. There is no reason to stay inside.

A grunts approvingly and leads me down Something Street and around the corner. Thats about as vocal as we get. Sometimes theres a bit more body language. We try and form words but it's difficult. Every so often we can get one out.

"H-hurng-ree"

I stammer, pleased with myself. It's not an easy word to say with a dead tongue. Most zombies can only manage one syllable words. I've mastered two. A nods, A can't speak. I think I'm one of the few who can. It must be so boring in their funny little brains. Do they think? Do they think like me or do only simple things cross their minds? People have the misconception that zombies are mindless eating machines. It's not quite true. Zombies think of food, they think of moving. They think of moving and eating.

A pokes me, I had my thinking face on again, he doesn't like it. It's understandable. The bonies leave us alone because we're dead, but if we were to start doing something out of the ordinary they might change their minds. If they had minds. Bonies are true, ruthless eating machines.

The usual group is waiting for me and A at the corner. It's larger today. Food's getting scarce. Animals will do if theres no human flesh around, truthfully we don't need to eat as often as we do. But when we sit and do nothing for the rest of our deaths, the changing from zombie to bonie comes quicker. It starts with getting thinner, the flesh clings tightly to the structure beneath. The eyes get hard. Most zombies have a vacant look, this look is anything but. Then they tear away their own flesh. It's horrific and theres no coming back from it. Once you're a bonie you stay that way. I don't ever want to become one.

I've spent so much time thinking that I realise we've arrived at my hospital. We usually venture out further but one of us most have caught the scent of fresh blood. I sniff the air. It smells wonderful. The smell of iron and warm flesh and a beating heart. It's the smell of food. And theres more than one. At least five. I follow the other's inside.

The usual residents ignore us, there are not many that stay here. There are a few doctors and ex-patients that occupy the higher floors. They don't come down often. Stairs are difficult and no one can remember how to operate the lift. A points towards a storage room. The smell is getting stronger and I can hear muffled voices.

This is the worst part of being a zombie, the killing. But anything is better than being a bonie. Anything.

* * *

**JOHN**

I shouldn't be happy for another chance to leave the comfort and safety of the compound, but it gets too stuffy and I can't breath. I want to run in the open air, down the empty streets and be free. But it's not an option. We are low on penicillin and a few other things, so myself and a few others are off to collect more supplies. Stamford is with me this time, it's his first time out, he really shouldn't be here, but there were no other doctor's to spare. With us was Mandel, an orderly, Rory, a nurse and a few soliders. The detective inspector from before was with us this time. He's never joined us before. I learn his name is Greg.

"They told me to get out, it's my turn I guess. Makes sense, I barely do much as it is. Not much crime these days." We get to talking and he seems like a nice bloke.

"The thing is I don't know why we stay here, yes we're safe behind the wall but the country is free of zombies because theres no food out there."

"Guess the blokes up top have their own reasons John, we have to believe they know what they're doing." Greg was probably right. Still, I couldn't help feeling that we were only waiting for the inevitable.

We visited another hospital before Saint Bart's to collect more bandages. We were lucky so far, the streets were deserted. It was eiree. There was a back entrance to Saint Barts that we had to unlock. I always feel safe with a key, Zombies can't pick a lock. I can hear feet shuffling upstairs. Ex-patients turned zombies moving about with no purpose. Mike Stamford jumps, knocking over bucket filled with something rotten.

"Jesus Mike, watch where ya walking." Mandel growled. Just because they were all upstairs, doesn't mean they won't come down if they smell meat.

"Sorry, sorry."

The storage room is right at the end of the corridor before it bends. The soliders keep a look out while we enter and collect what we need. Theres so much of everything still but we only have a limited amount of time and its not advisable to carry to much. The heavier you are, the slower you are. I collect as much as my bag will hold and wait for the others.

Until I hear the sound every supply group fears.

The sound of dead feet running.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry, this one is a little gruesome, but hey, it's zombies so...you probably expected that.**

* * *

**JOHN**

It happens so quickly we barely have enough time to respond. The door bursts open and at least a dozen zombies leap into the room. Bullets fly left, right and centre, we shoot at anything that moves. Well most of us. A few people keep their heads. And I mean that literally. I shoot at least three zombies in the head before yelling for everyone to retreat. No one listens. I crouch down underneath a desk, Greg is under the one opposite to me, he motions for me to be silent. Maybe we can wait them out. A few of them have stopped eating and are sniffing the air. If they can smell us and group back together, we're finished.

I see a few moving around, they have finished eating. Oh god, where's Mike?! Shit, I should have been watching him! One of the is moving towards us, fuck, I hope I have enough bullets left. I sit completely still, my back to the side of the desk. My gun never wavers. I am ready.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Most of the others rush in straight away, limping makes it difficult for me to be first in line for a meal but I know there will be something left for me when I arrive. I ignore the bullets as they whizz past my body. I duck if I think they might go through my skull. That is the only way to kill us, aiming for the head. The brain, the hard-drive. OOoh I like that. I might use it. I don't want to lose my head, this may be a half-life but it's the only one I have.

One of them shoots me in the shoulder. It doesn't hurt, but it does annoy me. I like my coat and now theres a new hole in it. I turn around to find a scared, overweight man in a suit, pointing a pistol at me. He is shaking all over, the sweat pouring down his white skin. No one else is moving towards him, that means he's mine.

I run at him and grab his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. He tries to shoot me again but this time I'm close enough to knock the gun out of his hand. He trembles all over as I slide on top of him and, here's the part I hate the most, I bite into his neck.

He screams of course, they all do, but if you want the meal to sustain you for a decent amount of time, you can't kill them right away. So I don't eat anything vital yet. He isn't strong so even as a zombie I can easily overpower him. I rip apart his chest, the blood spatters everywhere. All over my coat. I really like this coat. Luckily the fabric is so dark the blood isn't easily seen.

My food is bleeding out, he hasn't much time left, I can leave him, he may become one of us, or I can eat his brain. I haven't eaten one in a while, and this man's might be the only one I get for another long time. Plus, I doubt he will want to become one of us. I hold him still as his body spasms and prepare myself.

* * *

Memories fly through my dead brain and it gives me such a rush. I feel so alive. I see him as a child, smiling in a doctor's costume, preforming a check up on a ragdoll. I see him laughing with his little sister, her hair in pigtails. He's older now, it's his first day at school, he's worried the other students will make fun of his new glasses. He's smart, more than I gave him credit for. He is a med student now, I learn his name is Mike. He's laughing with another man, a short blonde man whose smile makes me want to join in.

He calls him John and they become fast friends. Mike worries when John goes to war. So this John is an army doctor. Smart enough to become a doctor, brave enough to go to war. The more Mike things of him, the more intrigued I become. I don't know why, but perhaps because this John is in this room. I saw him when I walked in, but I gave him little notice. But now that I think back, his hand never wavered when he shot. He wasn't afraid of us. Most humans run, why didn't he?

I've gotten all I can from Mike. I drop his head and try not to slip in the blood that has now surrounded his body. I stand up as straight as my body will allow and sniff. Still two beating hearts among us. And I know just where they are.


	4. Chapter 4

**JOHN**

Shit, shit, shit! One of them's coming this way, if I take a shot it might alert the others. Shit. He's well dressed for a zombie, but then I've seen a few in three piece suits. I try and move further back but theres no more room. He's a tall bloke, a lot taller than me. Shit why is he crouching down, why aren't I shooting him!? Oh right, don't want to alert the others, whats the point though, he's right here and he's...just looking at me?

Why is he just staring at me?

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I find him beneath a desk, but he isn't cowering, his eyes are hard, he's prepared to blow my brains out in a moments notice. I think I've surprised him because he hasn't taken a shot yet. He isn't much to look at, at least not at first glance. But now, I see he has a military bearing. But he's at a hospital. Oh that's right he is a doctor. But surely doctor's are prized wherever he lives. Why is he ought here? Why is he in the midst of danger and not even the tiniest bit afraid?

I try and remember the name I found in Mike's memory. It started with a J. James?...No...John! I should let him know he's safe. Why will I let him know that? I have no desire to eat him, he's far too interesting. Yes, that must be it.

"J-...Jaaaawnn"

Oh well thats going to impress no one. I try again and succeed without stuttering this time. But it still sounds like Jawn and not John, but I think the message is clear. The message being I know your name is John please don't think this is creepy. I just ate your friend's brain thats all.

His eyes widen as he hears his name from my lips. He looks so confused. No wonder, a dead man he's never met knows his name. I have to tell him he'll be ok. But words aren't exactly my strong point. Well, not verbally.

"Sssafe."

I point to myself and repeat the word. He isn't buying it. He looks away and I realise the others can still smell him. I have to do something to mask the smell of life. So I smear his face with the blood of his dead friend and then sniff him and make a satisfied noise. I try and pull him up, but he's a fighter. He isn't afraid of me.

"Safe."

He shakes his head but I'm nothing if not persistent and I manage to pull him up. He looks over at another desk, theres another live being here. But he's nothing to me so I ignore him. John tightens his hand around his gun and whispers something. And then he goes with me. Why though? What changed his mind?

It doesn't really matter. We have to go. I have to figure this John out.

* * *

**JOHN**

When he says my name I almost gasp out loud. I don't know this bloke, why would he know my name? Plus zombies don't talk. Its one of the first things you learn. Besides Zombies Bad, Living Good. Zombies don't talk, they don't have emotions and they don't think. So there's nothing to worry about when you shoot them. Everything human in them is dead. And yet this one just said my name. And that he's safe. A safe zombie? Don't make me laugh. He wants me to get up, not bloody likely. I could shoot him now, but theres something in his eyes. And for some reason I lower my gun. He could have eaten me already. But he hasn't.

So I let him smear blood on me, it stinks of death. I let him pull me up. And I glance at Greg, who has this shocked look on his face and I don't think it's because this guy just said my name. I think he knows him. Oh God, what if it's his son? And he's a zombie. Oh shit. I hope he's just an ex-colleague. He mouths something to me but I can't hear it. I tell him I'll come back for him, if I can. I don't know if he believes me. But he nods and whispers good luck. I really hope that luck holds because I'm letting a bloody zombie, literally, walk me out of this hospital and I'm letting him. I must be mad, that's it, I've cracked.

That blood must be some secret zombie repellant, because they completely ignore me. Perhaps they think I'm one of them now. The dark haired zombie, with the emotive eyes keeps me close to him. If he had emotions I'd say he was anxious. Like he was afraid for my safety. He leads me down the streets of London, I could escape now if I wanted, but those with us might realise I'm not actually dead. We stop infront of a flat in Baker Street and he fumbles with the door knob. I'll shoot him when I get inside. This has to be some sort of ploy. But... zombies don't plot. What is he?

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I'm pleased he stayed with me and glad the other's didn't notice. Im bringing home a human, why must I be so strange? None of the others have ever done that. Pieces of a human maybe, leftovers spoil quickly though. I arrive at my home, just as the sun disappears behind the buildings. Why can't I open this door? Come on hand, work with me here. That's it, well done! I pull him inside and close the door. I stumble into what used to be the living room and put my new found treasure on the mantlepiece, its an old cluedo board. But it keeps falling off the mantlepiece so I stab it into the wall. There, serves you right.

John just stares at me. I confuse him. But I think I fascinate him because his gaze has softens.

"What are you?" He asks, moving around the room, keeping his back away from me. I don't know. I'm a freak. I shrug and he shakes his head.

"How do you know my name?...Fuck why am I asking you? Zombies don't talk."

Ouch, that hurt. I talked.

"Jawn." I say, there, prove zombies don't talk now. He shakes his head again, he has an almost worried smile on his face.

"Yeah that's my name, find your own, mate."

My own name. I have one of those. Why would I need to find one? I better tell him, he might feel stupid otherwise.

"L-l...L-lllll" Dammit. I hate L words. Dead tongues have trouble hitting the roof of a mouth.

"L-lllockk." I finally say, tapping my chest. I feel proud of myself.

John's smile drops and he scratches his head.

"Your name... is Lock? You have a name? Oh cripes, what have I gotten myself into? Zombies, dont have names."

I repeat my name to prove him wrong and he just raises his hands in frustration and walks into the kitchen. He talks to himself as if I'm not there and looks through the cupboards. He gives a shout of victory when he finds some tea. There's still a little electricity still in this house so he turns on the kettle and waits.

"You're something different mate."


	5. Chapter 5

**JOHN**

Why didn't I notice that cluedo board before? Shit I must be really losing it. I'm inside a zombie's home, except they don't have homes, and he's staring at me again. That's really kinda creepy mate. Could you stop that please? Why did he just stab the cluedo board to the wall? I move around the room, it's really quite messy in here, there's stuff all over the place, the guys a bit of a hoarder.

"What are you?"

The words escape my mouth before I realise it was pointless to ask a zombie anything. Except this one shrugs. He doesn't know, his existence must confuse him as well. I shake my head, I can't believe what's happening.

"How do you know my name?...Fuck why am I asking you? Zombies don't talk." Except this one did, it said my name. He says my name again as if it means something. Or his he proving to me that he can speak?

"Yeah that's my name, find your own, mate."

Ha, a zombie with a name, that will be the day. I spot the kitchen behind me and wonder if I ought to see if theres any food still left in this house. The zombie attempts to say something, but it stumbles over the first letter.

"L-lllockk."

Lock? What's that supposed to mean? The zombie points to himself. Wait...is that his name? He has a name? What kind of a name is Lock? Oh come on, this is completely ridiculous. I've been kidnapped by a zombie named Lock. Wonderful.

"Your name... is Lock? You have a name? Oh cripes, what have I gotten myself into? Zombies, don't have names."

He repeats the word again and I give up. Fine, he can call himself Spock for all I care, so long as he doesn't eat me. Speaking of food... My stomach rumbles, I realise I have eaten since breakfast, I really ought to take a look at this kitchen. Keeping one eye on him, I edge towards the cupboards and look inside. Nothing. This one had bowls and plates, this one glasses and mugs. I take one out, I'm thirsty too. Hang on, what was in that last one? Is that tea? Is that..PG Tips?! Yes, it is!

"Brilliant!"

I take it out and search for the kettle. There's an electric one in the corner and fantastically it still works. Oh God how I need tea, and proper tea. Whatever we have back in the compound, its not proper tea. The zombie, Lock I suppose I should think of him as that now, is watching me. He seems very curious for a zombie. He really is something new.

The minute its done, I waste no time in making it, savouring the delicious smells that drift into my nose. Oh yes, this is the good stuff, right here. I bring it to my lips and take a sip. Oh God Yes. Oh shit, did I say that out loud. I must have because the zombie-Lock, is looking confused again. I just realised how british this is. It's a zombie apocalypse, I'm with a zombie, and I'm drinking tea.

"I'd offer you some mate but I think you prefer blood to tea."

I climb into one of the small chairs near the fireplace. Wow, this is really comfortable. The z..Lock, perches on the other one and keeps watching me, or watching my tea. I can see him sniffing and wrinkling his nose. In disgust of the tea? Or in disgust that he can't smell it. My hand never leaves my gun though, just because he seems harmless, doesn't mean he is.

I'll drink this tea, then decide where to take things next. Its too dark now to leave, maybe there's a bed I can kip in till tomorrow.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I wonder what he's doing. It strikes a cord. Tea. He's making tea. He's making funny sounds, I think he is enjoying it. I watch him as he sits in one of my chairs and drinks this, tea stuff. I wonder what it smells like. I try sniffing it but it doesn't really smell appealing. He says he'd offer me some but I would probably prefer blood. No John, that's vampires.

I want to talk to him, but nothing springs to my useless mind so I try not to look to creepy when I stare at it. Every time he realises I am, I look away. It happens so many times he starts to laugh. It's a nice sound. I stare at the ground while he finishes his tea and sets it on the little table next to him. He looks tired. I suppose it's getting quite late for the living. He probably wants to sleep. And dream. There are two bedrooms here and zombies don't sleep. I should tell him.

"Sssleeep?" I inquire, hoping he gets the message.

"Me? Yeah, actually, have you got a bed?"

It seems he is still finding it unbelievable to attempt a conversation with the living dead. I nod and get off my chair. I lead him towards a short staircase. There's an empty bedroom upstairs. There is one on this level but the bed is covered with my stolen items. I follow him slowly up the stairs, I'm not as quick as him. John opens the door and coughs, a fine layer of dust covers everything.

"Dussssst" I say happily. I like dust.

"Yes, Lock. Very good."

He shakes out the bed covers and places them back on.

"Yes, this will do quite nicely. Um.. you can go now." He sits on the bed to remove his shoes. I should... I should probably go. I start to make my way out of the room.

"Uh.. goodnight Lock."

I grunt a reply and nod and leave him to sleep. It must be nice.

* * *

**JOHN**

I close the door after him and push a small cabinet in front of it. I remove my shirt and jumper, I have a tshirt underneath and climb into the bed. Hopefully I can return hom tomorrow I know this bloke doesn't seem to want to eat me and this place is frankly very comfortable. But I have supplies that the compound badly need. I'll decide what to do in the morning. I close my eyes and try to sleep.

I can't believe I just said goodnight to a zombie.


	6. Chapter 6

**THANKS SO MUCH EVERYONE! I love all your feedback and I only just started writing this fic! It even has fanart! *flails for a few seconds and then calms down***

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I usually spend my nights wandering around the flat. Theres a basement below mine, but there's nothing inside. There was a mirror but I don't like looking at myself, so I hid it in the cupboard. I sometimes sit on one of the chairs for hours staring at nothing. Tonight I sat around for two hours, stared at the perpetual drinking bird for another hour (he is never satisfied), groaned at the skull for forty-five minutes and then tripped over a pile of books that lay on the floor and stayed there for fifteen.

And it was while I was lying on the floor I came up with the brilliant idea to bring John human food. Surely he'd still be hungry when he got up? And with food perhaps he'd stay longer? But what did humans eat anyway? I knew there was a Tescos not far from here, perhaps I could find something there before he woke up. Which means I had to leave now.

If only I could get off the floor...

* * *

Another fifteen minutes later I finally got myself up and left the flat. It was still very dark but I could hear the familiar guttural cries of the bonies. They usually turn up whenever a group of humans had been sighted in the area. I don't know how they knew. Their sense of smell was probably greater than ours. Group of humans? Is that the proper term? Maybe it's a herd. Or a Life of humans. Does it matter? It doesn't matter.

I tried not to bump into anyone as I limped down the streets of London until I arrived at Tescos. Fortunately not many like to be in the open when the bonies come. I stepped over the broken glass that used to be a door and wandered inside. Most of the food was spoiled, but there had to be some items that were still safe to eat. I'd grab one of everything. There were a few other "shoppers" in the store. I say shoppers, obviously they just walk down the aisles and stare at the food and then walk back again.

Once I'd grabbed everything, I tried to carry it all out of the store. Everything tumbled out of my arms and I groaned in annoyance. I picked it up again and the same thing happened. Now really, this is going nowhere fast. I need to carry these back home, but how? I think I must have stood there for ten minutes before it hit me, bags were the answer. It took almost half an hour to load everything in. Did I mention I'm slow? Turtles are faster than me.

Satisfied nothing would fall out or through the bottom of the plastic I lifted the bags and headed home. The good thing about being dead is that no one else would think that it was a little strange for a zombie to be out shopping. They don't even stare at me as I walk past. I feel so proud of myself for remembering humans eat.

I had to kick my door open and kick it closed because I couldn't open it with the bags in my hands. I dropped everything on the kitchen bench and stood back. Now what?

* * *

**JOHN**

I woke up with a start and didn't know where I was. This wasn't my bunk and I couldn't hear Rory's familiar snore. I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. And then I remembered. I was in a zombie's home. A zombie had kidnapped me yesterday and I was sleeping in his house. A fucking zombie! A zombie named Lock. I leapt out of bed and into my clothes. I picked up my gun from the nightstand and headed down stairs. What time was it? Had I over slept?! I must have because light was shining through the living room windows.

"Shit."

I had to leave. I looked for the zombie but he was nowhere to be seen. Just as my hand touched the door handle I heard a small voice say stop. I turned around to see him watching me. He shook his head and walked over towards me. I pointed my gun at his head and waited. He lifted my hand of the handle as gently as possible. God, his hand was cold. No, he said.

"Look, I have to go, whether you like it or not mate. I have things that are badly needed back home." Lock shook his head again. Limp curls went every which way.

"Nnot s-safe." Wow that was practically a sentence.

"Why?"

"B-bonies."

He pointed towards the windows behind us. Watching him, I moved towards them. I could see them in the distance. He was right, it wasn't safe yet to go out. These guys would get me in a heartbeat. Because of a heartbeat. I swear again and lower my gun. What was I supposed to do?

"Stay."

I look into his eyes. Zombies shouldn't have such emotive eyes. His must have been blue once, or green. They were grey now with the familiar dark ring that bordered all zombies eyes. Should I stay? I can almost believe I would be safe here.

"For how long?" I let out a nervous laugh. He looks at me with an open mouth, as if deciding what to say next. Poor guy's gears were a little slow though. He must have given up trying to say what he wanted and held up three fingers.

"Three days?"

He nods and I sigh. Fine, three days it is then. But I'm gonna need to get food as soon as possible. My stomach won't stop complaining. It must have been loud enough for him to hear because he moved towards the kitchen and pointed at some plastic bags. Did he actually go shopping? What the fuck is this guy?!

"You went shopping? You?"He nods and presses a bag into my hand.

It's filled with tea.


	7. Chapter 7

**SHERLOCK**

If I could sigh a sigh of relief I would be doing so right now. He was going to stay! I had three days to figure him out. Three days without boredom. There was finally something fun going on! Aaah, the game was afoot! ...I'm not actually sure what that means but it works! Oh, oh the food! I could hear his stomach growling and had to stop myself from growling back.

I turned and walked in the kitchen and pointed proudly at the bags. I lifted one off the bench and pressed it into his hands. It was filled with tea. I wasn't sure which one to get, so I got all of them. He really seemed to enjoy the one from last night and the noises he made whilst drinking it were intriguing.

He laughed for some reason and put the bag back on the bench and started looking in the others. I think he was pleased with my choices. He kept saying how good this thing was or how he hadn't seen that in years. I think he almost cried when he saw the jam. I hope it is okay, some of the other's looked like purple slime but this was bright red and full of sugar. That was good, right?

"Oh you are brilliant."

Was that directed at me? I don't think he realised he said it out loud because he looks embarrassed when he does. I think I like being called brilliant. He takes everything out their bags and stacks them on the bench, against the kitchen wall. He opened a box of dry biscuits, took one out and spread a small amount of jam on it. He almost moaned in delight. It was an interesting sound. He must really like jam. I shouldn't keep staring.

He covers three more biscuits with jam and then closes the box up again and puts the lid back on the jam, but he does so sadly. He eats the biscuits in silence but I can tell he's happy. He takes a few sips of one of the bottles of water and then puts in back.

"Why did you do all this? How... how can you know to do this? You're dead! Well.. sort of. But zombies don't do this."

Is he angry at me? But I thought he would like the food. I only did it because I wanted him to stay. I feel drawn to him and its not just because of the memories I took from Mike. Yes, I know zombies don't do this! I don't know why I'm different. I'm a freak. But somehow it's preferable than being a brainless idiot.

"F-freakk." I say softly and he just stares at me and then closes his eyes.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you. You don't understand. It's just, if you are like this, what if others were? What if we have been killing creatures capable of intelligent thought?!"

This worries him a lot because he keeps running his hand through his ash blond hair. And leaning on the bench. But he shoots us to survive, just like we eat his kind to survive. Neither of us can help it. It's only logical. He must have strong morals.

"I don't think you're a freak, Lock."

I want to smile but I don't remember how so I nod.

"Good?"

I point at the food so he understands. Then he grins. Just like in the memories. It's so bright like the sun. I probably haven't seen anyone smile at me since I was alive. I want to keep it on his face always.

"It's fantastic. Really. You are truly something different."

I feel my mouth twitch but I don't smile. But I think I'm smiling inside.

* * *

**JOHN**

I shouldn't have yelled at him. He's like a child or a puppy, he doesn't understand. Yelling worries him because it's probably not something he's used to. He thinks he's done a good deed and he has but he doesn't understand what this means. If he is like this, so...he's almost human. What if others had been? If they eat to survive and they have no choice, what if they were capable of intelligent thought? What if we could reason with them?

No, no Lock you aren't a freak. You...you're special. But you're existence changes so many things. Even if you are the only one, like you. Please don't look so worried, you're a zombie. You aren't supposed to be worried. You are supposed to groan and shuffle around and drool blood and...you just stand there staring at me and you look so hurt.

"I don't think you're a freak, Lock."

I'm not sure if he understands but he nods. He asks me if the food was good and I can't help smiling. Everything he chose will last awhile. I can take it with me and share it around or get more before we go. Or come back. And the jam! Oh the jam was wonderful. I need to make that one last a long time. Its been four years since I last had any. And all that tea. I should try some later. So many different flavours.

"It's fantastic. Really. You are truly something different."

We stand there awkwardly for a couple of minutes before I busy myself by making some tea. Lock moves back into the living room and tries to play with a slinky. It doesn't work so he stares at it on the floor until he decides to do something else. I wonder what it must be like being him. Being so confused about his own existence Being easily amused by some things and confused by others. He picks up a hat that was sitting on his desk. It's a deerstalker. But he doesn't seem to know what to do with it.

I leave my water to boil and wander over the desk. He's perched awkwardly on the chair. I take the hat from him without thinking and put it on his head.

"Rude."

"It's a deerstalker, a hat. Look." I undo the flaps an watch his eyes widen as they hit his ears. I have no idea why I had the compulsion to do it. But to be honest I was starting to feel safe with this bloke. I don't think he wants to hurt me. He wants to help me.

"Ear-hat-t-t" He plays with the flaps and then takes it off his head. He puts it on the skull that sits on the mantlepiece. He nods at the skull and sits back down.

"Tea."

Oh shit my tea!


	8. Chapter 8

**JOHN**

I'm not sure what to do to pass the time. His books are all on criminology. He must have been a private detective or something. I suppose I could read those if I get very bored. His tv doesn't work, and the only board game is stabbed into the wall. Plus I doubt Lock can play. I do find a deck of cards on his desk though. I settle for a few games of solitaire until lunch time.

Lock doesn't pay attention at first but once he realises what I'm doing he tries to join in. He points out cards to me, sometimes they're wrong. But every so often he gets one right. He gets so good at it I have to bat his hands away so I can play. Perhaps I should try and teach him a simple card game. Like go fish or snap. I haven't played those in years.

My watch beeps and I realise I'm hungry again. I leave the cards on the floor and head to the kitchen. I decide on same crackers and jam again. It's delicious. I wonder what I should have for dinner? There's some pasta perhaps. I could heat up some water. I wonder if there is a colander somewhere around here?

It's in the living room filled with juggling balls and a plush blue rabbit.

I empty it out and Lock grabs the rabbit before it falls and sets it on the desk. I apologise and head back into the kitchen. I'm elated that there is pasta sauce but how will I heat it? The stove doesn't work. Maybe the microwave... It works! The microwave works! Brilliant. I'm all set for dinner. Then I can relax afterwards with some tea and maybe some canned peaches.

Lock is playing with the cards again. He tries to shuffle them like I did before but fails miserable. He settles for letting the cards fall from his hands and onto the ground. I laugh and pick them up and I attempt to show him again. But he is having none of it.

Perhaps now is not the time to teach him card games.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

The game with the paper rectangles looks interesting. I wonder what he's doing. He puts one on top of the other and sometimes in another pile. Each pile seems to have a matching symbol. What is the point of this? Sometimes he grumbles if he can't finish the game. He takes the rectangles in his hands and shuffles them. I look at my hands and wonder if I can do that. It looks clever. I try and help him play but I must be doing something wrong because he continues to push my hands away. So I set my hands in my lap and just watch.

Something beeps and he jumps up and walks into the kitchen. He looks for something, he looks for it in every cupboard. And then he looks around the living room. Which I always thought was a stupid name. Whatever it is he wanted, he finds it on my desk. He tips everything out and takes it back into the kitchen. I grab Bluebell before he hits the floor. I found Bluebell in a toy store with a smashed display window. I walked past him everyday and then one day I just took him home. I don't know why. I go back and sit on the floor near the paper rectangles. What were they called? They can't really be called paper rectangles. That is just my brain being stupid again.

OH! Oooh, I am stupid. They're called cards.

I do not like cards. Cards are evil. I tried to shuffle them like John did but my stupid fingers refuse to cooperate so I let them fall to the floor. They deserve to stay there. John tries to show me again but I push the cards out of his hands. He laughs and tries once more, then gives up.

"Nice rabbit." He says suddenly. I don't know if he is poking fun at me or not.

"Bl-l-l-ue bell." I have no idea why I called it that. I have only named two other things besides that rabbit. Myself and the skull on the mantlepiece.

He's called Billy.

I used to talk to him. Or try to. But skulls don't answer back. Sometimes I would pretend he did. I would he was as articulate as I was inside my head. I threw him away once, because I knew I was just pretending. Billy wasn't a real friend. I think I was just lonely. But I picked him back out of the gutter a week later and he's been on the mantlepiece ever since. But I don't talk to him anymore.

"Interesting name." Now I know he is poking fun.

But he's smiling, so perhaps his aim is not to hurt me. Perhaps he is not sure how to treat me. I shrug in reply to his statement and stare at the floor. Theres a large area of the carpet that appears to have been burnt. You can see the floorboards beneath. I must have dropped something once to have caused it. Pity. It is a nice carpet.

* * *

**JOHN**

It's almost sweet that he's given the toy rabbit a name. It's also kind of sad. How long has been like this? How long has he been dead and self aware? And are there any others like him? I hate the idea that I might have killed creatures like him. Because he seems so innocent. He seems fascinated by everything. I can tell this and I barely know him. What might I learn in another days time? In another two? What if he learns to speak more. God, what if he learns to express himself emotionally? Does that mean he is becoming human? Because who defines what is human, what isn't. Is it just a pulse?

I've always wondered if a cure was possible, and what if its in this one zombie. This one zombie who goes shopping for a human he just brought home, who knows the buy them tea after just meeting them. Who has a rabbit named BlueBell and collects an all matter of things to try and figure them out. I may be just a new thing he wants to add to his collection, but I don't really believe that. He may never have made the decision to save someone before. And I wonder why me, how was I different from any one else. Was it because I didn't shoot him? Was it because I wasn't afraid? Why me?

And oh God, I just then remember Greg. I mean I only just met him yesterday but how could I forget him!? I hope he escaped and made it back to the compound. But if he tells the others what happened they might just come looking for me. And that means they'd shoot Lock. I don't want that to happen. Not just because he saved me, but he really wouldn't understand. He might feel betrayed. Or maybe he wouldn't. I might be thinking too much about this. I don't know how his mind works. It does work, that much is obvious.

I really hope Greg is ok. I could have done more to help him.

* * *

I don't know what to do to pass the time until dinner so I decide to explore the house. Lock follows me around like a puppy or a duckling. In each room he would move ahead of me and bring something out for me to look at. In one room he shows me an old victorian camera, in another a box filled with rubix cubes. The bath in the bathroom is filled with pillows and blankets of all shapes and sizes. The flat below this one must have belonged to a woman. He doesn't show me anything in this flat. Perhaps because it wasn't his. We go back upstairs and this time into another bedroom.

It probably used to be his. He showed me a bloody harpoon that had been resting in a corner. I don't mean it was covered in blood, I just mean he keeps a fucking harpoon in his bedroom. The bed was covered in boxes and papers and a great deal of other bits and bobs. I watched him stand in front of a dresser and wrapped his large hand around a broken photo frame. I lift it out of his hands and he doesn't fight me. It's a photo of two little boys. One looks about five years old, the other maybe ten, maybe twelve. The older boy has reddish brown hair that curled in the middle of his forehead. It must have been at a wedding or something formal, because he wore a little suit. He held onto his sibling proudly. The younger brother was clearly lock. That black curly hair was unmistakable. He wore a dark blue suit with shorts and he clutched a toy dog in his hands. Both were smiling at the camera.

I felt like something had shot me in the heart because not only do both boys look familiar to me, but because the glass in this frame, although broken, is the only thing in the room free from dust. He must come into this room all the time and wipe the glass. Does he sit on his bed and look at it? Does he know the other boy is his brother? Or does he just know the picture is something special. I hand it back to him and he gently sets it back on the dresser. I want to ask him about it, but I'm not sure what to say.

"Who is he?"

Lock points to the little boy with his curly hair. "Me." But he seems unsure of that statement. He points to the other boy. But not words come this time. He starts to bite his lip as if he was trying very hard to remember but I stop him. I'm not sure how zombies bodies healed. Or if they even did. With no pulse, no blood rushing around a body, they most likely didn't. I didn't want to take the risk of him biting through his own lip without realising it.

"It's ok." I hesitantly put my hand on his back.

"No." He says. Its not ok.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry this one is a little shorter!**

**LESTRADE**

I'd been running for what felt like hours, I was lucky that the streets appeared to be deserted. But it was getting late and I didn't want to be caught out here when night fell. I paused by a bench and sat down for a second to catch my breath. I really couldn't believe what I'd seen. It really can't have been him, but bloody hell it sure looked like him. I mean it had his coat and that blue scarf, it even had his dark curly hair. If it wasn't him it was his twin. Shit.

That means we lost him after all, doesn't it? I mean some of us hoped, I can't vouch for Anderson or Donavan, but some of us did hope that he was out there still alive. I mean, he's bloody Sherlock Holmes. Was..was Sherlock Holmes. But I thought if anyone could survive out there, it was him. Before I came to the compound I didn't even know he had a brother! But the first person I met when I got there was Mycroft Holmes.

He still believes he's alive too. He's clinging to that hope. Sherlock was the only family he had left and now I have to tell him the bad news. But the one thing I don't get is why he saved that doctor fellow. Why did he take him away? Did he want to eat him later? What was it? I can't get his voice out of my mind though. He said the kid's name. And I doubt he's ever met him before. Blokes just a doctor. He's the kind of guy that Sherlock wouldn't even give the time of day to.

Is that the compound wall? Must be, nothing else looks as drab and dull as that. Bloody good timing too, its getting colder and he can barely see where I've come from. There are soldiers outside, the guards I'm guessing, never left the compound before. Not in five fucking years. They stop me before I reach the door and check me over. They want to make sure I haven't been bitten. I say I haven't but I still have to go into quarantine and get a check up before I'm allowed to go home.

Before they leave me I tell them I have something urgent to tell Mycroft Holmes. I can see the guard's face go white, he's done this before and it mustn't have been a pleasant experience. But he nods, he knows his duty. Good. Its not something I want to do, but someone has to tell him.

Sherlock Holmes is dead.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I am not accustomed to evening tea being interrupted by a boy of a soldier running into my parlour telling me I am needed. I had only just changed into my pyjamas, and I am not prepared to change back into a suit. Mr Lestrade will simply have to come to me, this room is warm and I am not going to leave it. Apparently he is the only survivor from the most recent expedition group. Pity, there were some good people in that group. But no group ever returns with all it's members. I dismiss the boy and get off my chair to pour another cup of tea for myself and one for Lestrade.

He arrives right on time, though it is clear he has just changed into clean clothes before coming here. He looks tired and sits in one of my plush chairs as soon as he arrives.

"This is bloody comfortable mate, you rich blokes have all the luck." Not at all, this was simply the home of a government official who didn't wish to be bothered. Besides ten other people lived in this building. They all worked for the government but I was in charge of them of course.

"Tea?"

"Yeah, I will thanks."

He's bursting to tell me something, but I can tell it is bad news only. But I don't press him for information, I let him sip his tea and wait. He takes another large sip and places the the cup on the table beside him. He sits forward and my heart lurches because I am almost certain of what the news will contain.

"Look, um...I have something to tell you and I'm not gonna lie, it's not good."

"He's dead, isn't he?" Of course he is, there can be no other explanation.

"Sort of..."

Of course, when I say dead, I meant he has become one of the living dead. I don't know which is worse to be entirely honest. Lestrade stands up and sips the last of his tea. He tells me he has to return home now, he needs sleep and could I please send out a search party for Doctor John Watson. I am confused, surely the undead would have killed him already.

"Nah mate, you don't understand, he took him. Your..your brother, he took that doctor and walked away with him. I don't know what he is planning to do with him, but he didn't attack him. John might still be alive, please, he's a good man."

"I will see what I can do."

"Thanks, night Mr Holmes."

"Goodnight.."

I wait for him to leave before I bury my face in my hands. I have failed Sherlock, my little brother has joined the forces of the living dead, I have lost him forever.

* * *

**LESTRADE**

I feel real bad for the bloke. I was hoping Sherlock was still alive and surviving somewhere, examining zombies to keep himself occupied. Maybe he did and that's how he got in this mess. We still don't know what happened after the rescue attempt five years ago. We saved Mrs Hudson, his landlady, but we lost him. I have to tell Mrs Hudson and Miss Hooper the bad news. Theres a few men who used to be in the force who will want to know as well. They deserve to know. Even if it hurts.

Everyone deserves an answer on what has happened to their loved ones. It brings a sense of closure. Some folks are lucky, their friends or family arrived unharmed after surviving out in the open. Others still don't know. And they might never know. Honestly, I would have preferred for Sherlock to not have become a zombie. That means everything he was, is gone. A lot of people hated him but they didn't get to see the humanity he only showed to select few people.

Like when he moved from Montague street to Baker Street to help out Mrs Hudson before the compound existed, like how vulnerable he was when I helped him through withdrawal. I only knew him for two years before the zombies came. But he kinda grows on you. I've seen how he smiles at his landlady when he thinks no one is looking. How he tries to show he cares in his own little way. I don't think he received much love as a kid, he doesn't want to show he cares. Some of those upper class families are like that.

Now I won't get to hear another deduction, won't see how joyful he gets during a case, though usually its about something horrible. But like I've tried to tell Anderson and Sally, its not about the actual crime, its about discovering the clue to the mystery, we just have to go deeper, he was a complex young man and he could have been so much better.

I'm gonna miss you kid.


	10. Chapter 10

**MYCROFT**

I do not know if I can sleep tonight. I am afraid I will dream of him. It wouldn't be the first time. But now I know what his fate was. I now know what happened to him. I genuinely believed he might still be alive. I hoped he had survived somehow, but I see now it was nothing more than a fool's hope. Every time there was news of a survivor or even survivors, I would hope Sherlock would be among them. I would leave my office for the security building and watch them all be processed. But my brother was never among them. Eventually I gave up and decided to wait.

And I waited five years for nothing. Now I have to decide what to do with the information I've been given. I could put him out of his misery. I could have him caught and contained outside the wall as we work on a cure. Or I could do nothing. But then there's this piece of information that makes no sense. Why did Sherlock not attack the doctor? It was unheard of for the undead to not kill their prey straight away.

It required further research and thought before reaching a final decision. But, perhaps this something that ought to be slept on. I will try. And in the morning I will talk to Lestrade again. I need him to tell me everything. Everything he saw, everything he heard. I need data. I must know everything.

Sherlock's fate depends on it.

* * *

**JOHN**

Dinner was delicious, I haven't had anything so nice in at least a year. I topped it all off which half a can of peaches. Lock was still moping, if you called it that. I did because he just sat on his chair with his legs drawn up and played with his shoelaces. I tried to draw him into some form of communication but he refused to look up and would just respond by shrugging. He's a very stubborn zombie. I wonder if I ought to tell him a story? Something simple he'd understand, either a child's tale or a story about myself.

"Do you want to hear a story?"

I ask and he looks up for a brief second, I've got him now. He gives the briefest of nods and lets go of his laces. What should I tell him? I decide on a few Fairy Tales, not the kid's versions though, zombie or not, Lock is technically an adult, though he doesn't act like it. But he still hangs off my every word. After each one I ask him if he would like another. But I make him speak. If he can be taught, if his speech can improve, then perhaps there is hope for every zombie. I also sense that he dearly wants to be able to communicate with me but lacks the skills to do so. By the end of five more stories, he's able to speak in two word sentences He is still a little hard to understand and he stumbles over the words but he's getting better.

"I think that's it for now, Lock. Getting a bit late." I yawned.

"W-want m-m-more."

"Tomorrow, Lock. I'll tell you some more tomorrow. Though, I wish there was something else I could do while I waited."

"T-tired?"

I waggled my finger at him, I'd like another word please, two words per sentence, Lock. His brow furrowed as he tried to come up with another word. He'd learned quite quick that a wagging finger means a halt in a story.

"Y-you...t-tired?" Much better mate.

"Yeah, I'm gonna head to bed...night mate."

I try to smile as I leave but I feel uneasy about my situation. What am I doing trying to teach a zombie? It's obvious he wants to learn, but who ever heard of someone trying to educate the living dead? And what were the implications of this...

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

The stories were interesting and quite gruesome. I am sure when I was alive I would have heard them before. But when you become one of us your memory is wiped. So these were all brand new to me. It did get exhausting trying to speak in two word sentences so often. Once every few weeks or months is one thing. After every story is asking a bit much. I hope he doesn't expect me to do this all the time. Yes I want to learn to speak better, but I'd rather get it right, right away then stumble over every word and stutter.

I've also realised, I never used to mind doing nothing at night until John came to stay. Now time seems to pass differently. I make my way to the bathroom and lie on the pillows and cushions in the bath and pretend I can sleep. My legs are so long that one hangs over the side and the other is curled against the glass of the shower cubicle. Instead of sleeping I just stare at the cracks on the ceiling and the little spiders that scuttle back and forth. The cobwebs cover half the ceiling already. Sometimes they swing down onto my shoulders or my head. One time I sat still for hours and they spun their webs around me. If I were to have a pet in this state, a spider would be a good choice. I would give it a good name.

This time only one swings down onto the tap just above my head. I will let him weave a web around me. Especially since I ruined the ones that were on the bath just now. He's quite skilled at it. Dance little spider, spin me a web.

* * *

**UNKNOWN**

"How many does that make?" I ask as I lean back in my chair and breath out pure white smoke. My hard little work glares at me as he pulls his latest prize past my window.

"Five."

He says. Just five. Well I suppose I will have to make do. I need their brains to find out what makes them tick. Oh to have an army of these to do my bidding, who wouldn't want that. But I prefer to work in the shadows, the people I exploit must never know I'm to blame. Though I can't claim credit for these creatures. I wouldn't want to. I used to be quite important before the war came and I intend to be again should it one day be over. Each brain tells me more about the living dead. How they work, if they think. If I can use my findings to some advantage.

"Look if you don't start on that one on the table I'm throwing it away. It's putting me off my dinner."

"You aren't eating dinner."

"I wanted dinner you arse."

Ah domesticity.


	11. Chapter 11

**SHERLOCK**

The spiders spun magnificent webs over me last night. When they finished one, they would started another. They probably think of me as they do any other inanimate object. Except I can move. I tried not to, I didn't want to disturb them. One of them has settled on my nose and is looking at me. I'm far to big for him to eat and I am sure I would not taste very good. I guess he is lying in wait for some other bug to fly into the webs above me. I wonder what type of spider he is. I also wonder if he is even a he. He could be a she. I watch him slink away to fix something in one of the webs. He isn't the only spider on me. I believe at least ten are. There are more on the webs above me. This spider has rather a large family.

Is it almost morning? John might be up soon, or he might decide to sleep in. I am glad he doesn't believe I am a threat to him anymore. But should I get up? There really is no reason to yet. If I hear him I will get up. Until then, I will stay here.

I don't want to disturb the spiders.

* * *

**JOHN**

It's raining when I wake up, I love the sound of rain against the windows or their pitter patter upon the rooftop. I feel like I could just dive under the covers and stay there for the rest of the day. But I have to get up. If I don't I expect a concerned zombie would burst into the room to make sure I was still alive. Speaking of zombies, I wonder where he is? I pull of the covers and shiver. Fuck, it's gotten quite chilly during the night. I grab a blanket from the bed and make my way downstairs. A nice, warm cup of tea will do me good.

Lock isn't in the living room, or the kitchen. It's possible he has gone outside. Though he will be soaking wet when he returns. I turn the kettle on and select my tea. I'm going for something traditional this morning. I'll keep the weird flavours for later. It feel's so nice to be inside during a storm, with the tea kettle boiling, wrapped in a blanket. It feels normal. Perhaps because it is. I haven't done anything like this in a long time, just relaxing. I'm always so busy, there's barely time to just be yourself.

The kettle turns itself and I pour the water into my cup. That smell is heavenly. I sit down in the chair closest to the kitchen and pull my feet up. The tea warms me straight up but I wish there was a fire going. There is a fireplace but it looks like it hasn't been used in years. Which would make sense. Maybe theres something I can use as kindling...

I should ask Lock first, I don't want to anger a zombie whilst dressed in a blanket, with tea. Where is he?

"Lock?"

I call, hoping he can hear me. I leave the living room and walked through the kitchen to his bedroom. Nope, not in there. He wasn't in flat below this one either. Or the basement. Where could he be? There's only one room left. And if he's not there, he must be outside somewhere. I don't suppose rain bothers a zombie. I place my teacup on the kitchen table and open the door to the bathroom. I'm glad I don't have to worry about him being naked and having a shower.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

The door opens and I look up, it's John, in a blanket. Oh dear, this probably looks rather odd. I'd explain except I have no answers. He just keeps staring at me with his mouth open. It's quite interesting to watch. He's not sure if he should go over to me and help me or leave me to get up myself. He takes off the blanket and puts it outside and then closes the door. He folds up his sleeves and kneels next to the bath.

"Is this something you do often?" I want to nod but I can't.

"Yess."

"Why?" Ok, that was a hard question to answer. Because I can? Because it's interesting?

"B-bec-causse." Yes, perfect reply.

"Because is not an answer Lock."

"Is."

"No it's really isn't."

"...Is."

"Look, let's not do this. Are you staying there or not? Only it's fucking cold and I need something to start a fire."

Cold? What was cold? Oh, cold is why he's shivering. I can bring in the chairs from the cafe next door and he can burn those. I don't want him to burn my things. They are mine. I slowly, very slowly lifted my head and hit the tap above it. John winced on my behalf. I gently sat up and slowly began to stand. Most of the spiders leaped away onto the walls or they ran down my legs. Getting out of the bath was no problem, with all the pillows and blankets, it was no longer slippery.

There, out.

* * *

**JOHN**

He's... he's just covered in cobwebs. His shoes, his coat, his scarf, even his face and hair. Oh Lock, you are ridiculous. I brush away some of the webs from his coat just as a little spider begins his descent down Lock's face on a single piece of silk. Lock almost goes cross-eyed trying to look at him. There's another spider on his shoulder and a tiny one crawling up his chin. I apologise to the spiders as I flick them off and make sure he is spider free before I let him out of the bathroom.

"Now do you know where I can get firewood or kindling?"

He nods and tells me to stay. I watch him leave the hallway and down the stairs of the flat. He's very slow. And yet zombies can be incredibly fast. I guess they just have to be hungry. I pick up my blanket and wrap it back around my shoulders. I need something to eat. Jam and crackers again, delicious. I could live on this stuff. I technically am.

I think I want another cup of tea.

* * *

Lock returns forty-five minutes later with three wooden chairs. He is soaking wet. I feel cold just looking at him. His feet have left wet footprints all everywhere and he's now standing in a little puddle of his own making. His hair is flat against his face, still with a little curl though. I take the chairs of him and start to break them into pieces. Now to start the fire. Shit.. should have thought about that.

"You don't have matches do you?"

I watch his mind whirring. Lock turns towards the desk and pushes a pile of papers off to reveal a box of matches. Most of them have been used. But theres still a few left. Enough to keep a fire going for a few days. I throw the pieces into the fireplace and light them. I make sure to move the grill back in place. I don't want curious zombies trying to touch the fire. And I can tell the thought has just crossed his mind.

"No Lock."

He just looks at me and water droplets slide down his face. "Why?"

"Because it's dangerous."

"...D-dead."

"Yeah so your body doesn't heal like a human's. So stay away from the fire. Promise me." Do zombies even make promises?

"F-fine." Good. I'll hold you to that.

"Now go and...dry off or something. I feel cold just looking at you."

This really confuses him. He has probably been out in the rain loads of times and never dried himself off before.

"Dr-r-r-r...dr-ry off?"

Fine, I'll do it. Just this once. He's going to have to sit in front of the fire though. I tell him to do so and that if he so much as touches that grille I will tie his hands behind his back. He nods and sits in front of the fire and watches it. I search a few cupboard for towels and find a few large enough. I bring them back and start to dry him off. It's hard because he refuses to remove his coat, shoes or scarf. So I settle for drying them instead. He turns around whilst I'm doing it and watches me with open eyes. He scrunches them when I do his hair through. When I'm finished his hair resembles a mad scientists.

"There, you're mostly dry now. Stay in front of the fire until you are completely dry. Don't move from this spot."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to slip in a puddle you've made and break a leg or something."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts."

"Why?"

Oh God he's in the why stage. Why?! Oh very funny brain.

"Just because Lock, ok? Just because." I considered giving him a proper medical answer but I'm sure it would lead to more questions.

"N-not...g-good.?"

"Bit not good yeah."


	12. Chapter 12

**MOLLY**

I miss my home. I miss my job. I miss my cat, Tobi. I miss my friends, I miss Sherlock, I miss my old life. Everything is so different now. I have a new cat though, a kitten. I found her abandoned in a damp, cardboard box. I have named her hope. I share my small home with her, Sally Donavan and Mrs Hudson. I'm not sure how we all ended up together, I suspect a certain Holmes brother might have had something to do with it though. It's too much of a coincidence anyway.

I'm still a mortician, but my job is now a despised one. Not that it was all that popular before. But now people spit on me, they throw insults in our direction and sneer. They believe we are tainted and carry bad luck because we work with the dead and the Undertakers. Perhaps they think we carry the zombie curse within us. I think they are well meaning but ignorant idiots.

I have changed a lot since the war. I am still shy sometimes but I think my confidence has grown. I no longer wear pretty clothes or glittery dresses to try an impress detectives. I dress simply and sensibly. My job is dangerous so my clothing must reflect that. Even our lab coats have changed. They are now black. All our clothing is because there is often so much blood and dirt. When I'm not working with the dead in the compound, I have to work with them in the open. Collecting bodies from the outside. So much of my clothing is military. I wear a pale red shirt beneath it though and tie my hair back in a ponytail with a red scrunch It has cherries on it. I'm still Molly Hooper after all. My former clothing may have been unsuitable, and I am no longer a girl. But there's still a need for colour in this world.

* * *

Mrs Hudson always cheers me up when I come home after a hard days work. She'll make me something delicious with the rations we have and although the tea is disgusting here, its still tea. There is always a cup waiting for me. She listens to all my complaints and problems. All my fears and hopes, with good humour. She's everyone's mum. But deep down you can tell she's crying. She's lost friends and relatives. Even a son. She misses Sherlock so much it hurts. She blames herself for him not being here. But it's not her fault. No one knows what happened to him.

I hope that he's still alive somewhere and safe. People tell me I am naive for thinking this way, that he's dead and to just move on. But hope is important. It means we haven't given up.

I will not give up hope.

* * *

**LESTRADE**

I decided to walk Sally home during her lunch break. Bloody wish I had an umbrella. When it rains here it gets muddy and soon you are knee deep in water. Today wasn't so bad, it's only up to my ankles. Sally knows something is up. She says she can see it in my eyes. I call her out for deducing and she replies it was just obvious. And she shuts up after she realised what she'd just said. I'm not sure how she'll take the news. She never cared for Sherlock in the same way we did. It's her loss. But it makes more sense if she hears everything from me and not from someone else.

Her home is so much more comfortable than mine. It's almos toasty warm. We wipe and remove our boots by the door and walk inside. I remove my coat and hang it up on a small hook. Molly is sitting on an old tattered couch, book in one hand and a tabby kitten purring on her lap. She gives me a small smile as we walk in.

"Make yourselves comfortable." I hear Mrs Hudson call from another room. She must have seen us as we came in. Good old Mrs Hudson.

Sally moves and sits next to Molly, who doesn't seem all that happy about it. I sit on a hard wooden chair by the window. Mrs Hudson comes in a tray of steaming hot coffee. I take the blue mug with the dancing cows and thank her.

"Now what brings you all the way out here, Mr Lestrade?"

"Greg, just Greg is fine." She waves a hand at me and sits down.

"Well...I have some news.:

"It's bad news isn't it?" Molly can see it in my eyes too. Damn deductions. I nod.

"Yeah, I'm afraid it is. Look um, I went out on the latest expedition group, to act as security. And well...I saw him."

I hear Mrs Hudson gasp, she knows who I mean. They all do.

"And?" Sally waves for me to continue.

"And... he's.. one of them. He's a zombie."

* * *

**MRS HUDSON**

"And... he's.. one of them. He's a zombie."

I can see how painfully that was for Greg to say. Oh my poor boy! This is all my fault. If I had only run a little faster he wouldn't have had to fend off the creatures chasing us. I will never forget his voice screaming for me to run, while he stood there with his harpoon. He saved me and now I have doomed him to a half life. My head sinks into my hands and I weep.

Molly wraps her arms around me and holds me close. Greg coughs and stands up. He says he will return tomorrow and tell us everything. I hear Molly say goodbye. I wipe my eyes and thank him for coming. Its horrible news, its the worst news. But its closure. I was afraid, not knowing what happened to him but now I know. But images of him fighting of zombies and being attacked or returning to his flat alone and cold and waiting for the inevitable brings fresh new tears.

"There, there Martha. It's ok. Maybe there will be a cure."

"Are you out of your mind? As if there will be a cure. Besides, he probably likes being a zombie. He was so damn fascinated with them when they first arrived."

Sally and Molly begin fighting. I know she doesn't truly hate Sherlock. I can see the regret on her face as soon as she uttered those words. I can't deal with this right now, so I leave them to continue their fight and head for my room. I close my door so I can't hear their raised voices and sit on my bed. There is a photograph on the table beside it and I pick it up an stroke the frame.

It's of myself, Sherlock, Molly and Lestrade. Three months before the war started. Dear boy, I hope we can help you somehow.


	13. Chapter 13

**JOHN**

It comes to my attention that I probably stink. I've been in these clothes almost two, three days. I've slept in them, I've run around London in them. I'm sure it doesn't both Lock, but it sure as hell bothers me. But I have nothing else to wear. Unless Lock has some old clothes here. They'd be huge on him, Lock has to be at least 6 feet tall. But anything is better than this at the moment. And I should have a shower tonight, spiders or no spiders. I stir my tea and test the taste. Perfect as always. Lock is still in the living room by the fire, he's completely dry now but he still has bed hair.

"Lock?" He turns straight away.

"Yess?"

"Um, you don't happen to have any spare clothes do you?"

If I told him why I don't think he'd understand. Zombies are like dogs, they like the nasty smells. I sip my tea as his head tilts to one side, he does that sometimes when he's trying to think. And then he nods.

"St-tay...here."

Not like I can go anywhere else mate.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Clothes.. clothes I have seen clothes somewhere he before. But why does he need to change? I have been wearing the same clothes for years. But then the dead have no need to change clothes. Plus it is a little difficult. I have trouble whenever a button becomes undone on my coat. If he is cold, he will want warm clothes. But how will I know what is warm? Perhaps if I observe the clothing and analyse it.

I make my way to my bedroom, I have seen clothes in there before. The wardrobes hold all sorts of strange clothes, two silk robes and one red velvet one. I take that one off it's hanger and throw it on the bed. It's very soft like my blankets in the bath. It has to be of a similar thickness to John's blanket. Opening some of the draws I find pants, plain shirts, jumpers and a variety of other clothes. I'll take one of everything and John can decide. I throw them all on the robe and carry them in a bundle. I deposit it all in John's lap, who jumps as if I had startled him.

"Wow, that's a lot! Thanks mate." I nod, pleased.

He sifts through the clothes, sorting them into two piles. A lot of the clothes are clearly too big for him. I sit by the fire and watch. I don't feel warm or hot, but I still find the fire interesting. If I could just touch it...no, John will get mad at me. I can't have that happen. Though I suspect he will be made if he ever finds out I ate his friend. Hopefully that won't happen. But what will I do when he wants to leave? I want him to stay here...

"Lock?" He must have been trying to get my attention, he looks worried.

"Yes?" He hands me one of the piles of clothes and thanks me for the ones he's borrowing.

"K-keep." I don't need them anymore.

"Really? I mean most don't fit me but when I get back home the rest are sure to fit someone."

I nod. Of course he can keep them. My clothes are still in good condition. For the most part. My shirt has a few holes in it, the collar is dirty and theres a few loose threads but its still whole. The ends of my pants are in tatters and theres a few holes in my coat but they are quite small. My scarf has nearly had it though. Which worries me because I'm not sure how to tie it if I find another.

"Thanks mate."

I take the unwanted clothes and head back to my room.

* * *

**JOHN**

The clothes are actually really nice. And expensive, bloke must have had a lot of money when he was alive. The pants are too long but they can be folded up or hemmed. I can use safety pins until then or cut them off with scissors. All the shirts are white and look like they would be way to tight on me. But I could use one of these pyjama tops instead. There's also a beautiful, and I suspect handmade, red jumper with blue and white diamonds around the collar. Someone must have loved him to have spent all that time on such a lovely jumper. There are also two pairs of pyjamas, one in grey and blue, the other in green and black. Ill use the grey top as everyday clothing and the black shirt and green pyjamas pants tonight. The dressing gown is brilliant.

Oh I can't wait for my shower tonight.

* * *

The afternoon goes quickly. I spend the time with Lock, looking through some of the closed boxes that were dotted around the flat. Most were labeled CASES, in messy handwriting. I was write to suspect he was a detective, but some of these had police reports, what sort of private detective is consulted by the police? Lock finds no intrest in the boxes because he has trouble reading them. But occasionally he will point at a picture and comment on it.

"G-guilt-ty."

"Who the man?" I'd been reading the case out to him, he had insisted. I don't think he likes to feel left out

"Yes. Guilty."

"How could you possibly know that?" It was there written in red, with an exclamation mark and smiley face.

"Hand." He points to the hand but I don't see anything.

"I'm sorry I don't understand, Lock."

"Hand." He says with greater vigour.

"It's just a hand, Lock." He throws the picture at me, which proved pointless as it floated down to the ground between us. He didn't look angry but perhaps he was frustrated that I wasn't understanding him.

"D-doctor." He points at me. Well being in a hospital when he'd found me might have made it obvious, but would a zombie be able to make that connection.

"Yes, I'm a doctor, Lock." He shakes his head. He wants to say something else, not just that I'm a doctor. But the words won't come.

"G-gun. Fffight." He mimes shooting and keeps pointing to my gun, which is resting on the kitchen table.

I'm sorry mate, I'm not sure what you're getting at. I swear I almost see him glare before he dives into a pile of junk and pulls out a toy solider.

"You."

Does, he mean he knows I was in the army before this? Is that what you're getting at, Lock?

"You. D-doctor." He points at the solider before he says doctor. Solider, Doctor. Army Doctor!

"You mean, Army Doctor. Is that what you're trying to say? That you know I'm an Army Doctor, the same way you know that man was guilty because of his hand?"

And then he grins.


	14. Chapter 14

**JOHN**

It doesn't last and Lock seems almost exhausted afterwards. But it was a smile nonetheless. It was proof of something. That Lock was different, special. Because it's a well known fact that zombies don't have emotions nor can they express them. And yet Lock clearly is learning to. He may not have always been able to do it and this may be the only smile he ever expresses, but it's proof. I just don't know of what. Lock continues to poke his cheeks in an attempt to smile again. He was just as surprised as I was when it happened and I believe he is trying to force it to happen again. But it mustn't work like that.

I busy myself making dinner while Lock continues to practice. He eventually gives up and looks at the clothes I have chosen for later. But he's easily bored and dives into another cardboard box and makes a mess by tipping out it's contents. It was full of glasses, prop noses, hats and other accessories. It's clear he doesn't know what half of the items are, so I amuse my self by putting some of the glasses and hats on him. My favourite is the Pilots cap and aviator glasses. The glasses snap in half when he tries to take them off and he holds them in his hands forlornly.

"It's ok it was just an accident." I take them out of his hands and put them back in the box.

He picks another hat. This time its a fez.

* * *

Dinner was lovely once again but I was looking extremely forward to a shower and fresh clothes. I left Lock to discover the purpose of a pink, lace bra and took my new clothes with me to the bathroom. I left them outside so I could be sure they would be spider free. Turns out water is a brilliant deterrent against spiders. I left my old clothes on the tiled floor, making sure I hung up the dressing gown on the door's hook. Then came the moment I'd been waiting for all day. Turning those taps and letting that wonderful warm water pour down upon me. And it was bliss, let me tell you.

I could stay here forever.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I've been waiting outside the bathroom for ages. He's been in there for a long time. Is he alright? Did the spiders get him? Why are his clothes outside? Doesn't he want them? Should I make sure he's alright? I test the door knob, it's unlocked. I shuffle inside quietly. The room is misty. I can see water pouring down from the shower head, into the stall. And I can vaguely see a form moving about behind the opaque glass.

And I could hear sounds coming from inside...and words.

_"I've been working so hard, I'm punching my card. Eight hours for what? Oh, tell me what I got. I've got this feeling, that time's just holding me down. I'll hit the ceiling or else I'll tear up this town._"

I can hear his feet splashing as they hit the shower floor. What is he doing in there? And what do those words mean? He'll tear up what town?

_"Now I gotta cut loose, footloose, kick off the Sunday shoes. Please, Louise, pull me off of my knees. Jack, get back, come on before we crack. Lose your blues, everybody cut footloose"_

Perhaps...perhaps I should just wait in here until he's finished his shower. This...thing he's doing requires further study. So I wait patiently outside his shower stall, fascinated by his shower performance. I wonder if all humans do this. Is it perhaps a kind of ritual? Something traditional perhaps, that they are required to perform during every shower.

It certainly is interesting and John seems to be enjoying himself. I hope he continues his ritual.

* * *

**JOHN**

I feel so refreshed. Once I'd run out of lyrics to sing I placed the old shampoo bottle back on it's little shelf. I feel renewed, I feel better than I have for ages. Definitely doing this again before I leave. Though to be honest I don't want to leave. But what I want isn't important. But maybe one day all this will be possible again. One can only hope.

I reach for my towel above me and wipe my eyes. The door to the shower stall was a little stuck at first but a bit of elbow grease was all it needed to open. I grinned to myself and lowered the towel from my eyes. And saw someone standing just outside the stall. Oh Shit. I quickly wrapped the towel around my waist.

"LOCK!?" I glare at him, dumbfounded.

"Yes?"

"You.. you can't just go into the bathroom when someone else is in there!"

"Why?"

I am this close to face-palming. If he wasn't dead I'd punch him straight in the nose. He genuinely doesn't believe he's doing something wrong. God, how to I explain this?

"Because it's...rude. It's rude Lock. You have to wait outside."

I feel my cheeks beginning to flush red due to this highly embaressing situation. Grabbing Lock's arm I pull him towards the door and push him out of the bathroom. I grab my clothes before he tries to get back in and slam the door in his face. Next time, I'll make sure the damn door is locked before I have a shower. Oh fuck! He heard me singing too! Though, I suppose it wouldn't have meant anything to him. It's not like he can tease me. He's bloody lucky right now that he's a zombie. Very lucky.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

But John, I just wanted to make sure you were ok! You had been there in ages, it was a logical assumption that something might have happened. No, let me go. What are you doing? No, don't close the door on me. John?! Let me in...I'm sorry. The force of the door propelled me to the ground, so I decided to stay on the floor till John came out. I didn't mean to make him mad. I don't understand what all his fuss was about. Or why his face went so red. Though that was very fascinating. Why did it happen? Was it me? Was it because I saw him with no clothes on? Was this not a good thing? Can I make him do it again?

Did I interrupt his ritual? I just don't see what I've done wrong...Its just a body...right? All the same bits are there. I think..They should be. Although he has a large scar on his shoulder. I have enough bullet wounds to recognise one on another body. The scar is very large. He must have been close to death after it occurred. But he survived and this does not surprise me. John is a survivor.

The door opens and John comes out in the loose green pants with the spots and a long black top. I remember these, they were ones I chose for him. They look very large on his smaller body. He wraps the red gown around his body and ties it, then grabs me by the shoulder and steers me into the living room. I have the curious notion that I might be in trouble. Well I have been in trouble before I am sure. I can handle this, no problem.

* * *

I've been grounded. I don't know what this is but it's a bit not good. How long do I have to stand in this corner?


	15. Chapter 15

**I am concerned this might become rather long...we haven't even adventured yet. **

* * *

**JOHN**

W-What? Where am I? Oh shit, I must have fallen asleep. I'd been reading a mystery book on the couch and I only closed my eyes for a second! What time is it?...I've been asleep for two hours. And Lock is still in the corner. His shoulder's are slumped, his head is resting against the wall. I only meant for him to stay there for thirty minutes...Sorry mate. I wipe my eyes as I get up, letting the book slider to the floor. I'll pick it up later.

"Lock?" I yawn. He lift's his head but doesn't turn around.

"John."

"Look, um, you can come out of the corner now. I didn't mean for you to be there for so long." My bad.

He nods and moves backwards, tripping over his bad leg, then over a casebox. His coat flips over his head, revealing a belt missing much of it's leather and a shirt with the fabric coming out of his pants, like a tail.

"You alright?" I lifted the coat off his face.

"Yes."

"Good. I'm going to bed. You can...do whatever it is you do at night. Goodnight."

Big day tomorrow.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Theres a lot of dust down there. Like a mountain of dust. You would be able to see it from space. When was the last time I cleaned in here? Oh right, never. How long am I supposed to stand here? It's exceedingly boring. I'll count the all the cracks in the wallpaper. That is sure to pass the time. Oh look a cockroach.

I'm so bored.

"Lock?" Oh good, can I get out of the corner now?

"John."

"Look, um, you can come out of the corner now. I didn't mean for you to be there for so long."

Oh how wonderful, nice of you to tell me that now. No, that's not fair, he didn't mean it. My incredible gracefulness leaves me sprawled out on the floor. I tripped over my own leg. That's a new high score in How Low Can I Go? Who turned out the lights?..Oh wait that's just my coat. I could just stay here like this until he leaves. He's probably laughing at me right now. Light enters my coat and I can see John's amused but concerned face.

"You alright?"

"Yes."

No I hate everything. Hate is a strong word. I looooooathe everything. I mean if I can express strong emotions I think I'd be having a sulk right about now.

"Good. I'm going to bed. You can...do whatever it is you do at night. Goodnight." Night.

I suppose could 'go to bed' as well. Let the spiders amuse me again. I know theres an actual bed in the downstairs bedroom, but I'm not about to clean everything off it. I'm a zombie not a housekeeper. I pick myself off the floor and head in the direction of the bathroom. I wish this bath was longer. Why don't they make them for tall people? Still, if I curl up I can fit my whole body in. I curl up on my side in the tub and stare at the stains running down it's side. That looks like blood. I hope its not blood. I don't remember eating anyone in here. I've never had take away before. That was probably in poor taste. That too. Is it my blood? Did I cut myself by accident? If I did...thats an awful lot.

* * *

I wish I could sleep. I wish my brain would shut up sometimes. I wish I could talk properly. I wish a lot of things. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride...said someone. Git. I wish I wish I had a fish. No I don't. Do others wish for things? Do they wish for something more than this? Do they wish for their old lives. I don't remember mine, I have a feeling I might have been lonely. Maybe because I was lonely before I found John. The world was dark and dull and then he appeared like the sun. Does that sound too poetic? I'm not a poet.

* * *

What do people do while they sleep? Does anything happen? I don't remember. Do they just fall unconscious and wake up several hours later like nothing ever happened? That sounds wonderful. I am constantly conscious. Like, I wonder how comfortable sleeping in here would be for a human. I wonder if I will even be able to get out of here.

And John..what if John wants to leave tomorrow? I can't stop him, he wants to go. But I don't want him to leave me. But I can't keep him prisoner he's a person, he has a life. Could I walk with him? I'd stay at a safe distance when we reached his home. Besides he will need all the help he can get, he's a soldier yes, but he came here with a group. He is the only one left. He will need help and I'm the only one who can volunteer. But I'll postpone his departure as long as I can.

* * *

The spiders have spun more webs across my body. They cling to my clothes and my hair. They also cling to the blankets and pillows. It's actually hard for me to raise my head. One of them lands on my cheek, he's a lot larger than the ones I usually find in my bathroom. No...don't spin a web over my face. I need my face. Wonderful now I can't open my eyes or my mouth. I could always use my hands, but one is tucked beneath me and the other is stuck to my side. Well this is just brilliant. Never let an army of spiders invade your bathroom, they will use you for hostage negotiations.

Someone send help.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I have made a decision. I shall ignore the opinions of the government and my peers and I shall seek out my brother for myself. If I believe he can be safely contained until a cure is found or, he becomes one of the flesh skeletons, I will see it done. If not, I shall deal with him myself. People can complain that we have never contained someone else's family member before, but the fact is those people are not me. It has never been considered before and I will fight for it to happen if I can.

Tomorrow morning I will ask Lestrade who he recommends go with me. I have a feeling I already know who he will suggest.


	16. Chapter 16

**JOHN**

I woke up late in the day, it must be at least 11am. Just as well, I doubt I'll have much chance to sleep in when I get home. I swing my legs out of bed and stand. Time to try on those new clothes. The top fits fine, the jumpers a bit big but I can fold up the sleeves. The pants...the pants are a problem. But maybe I can cut off some of the length. Must be a pair of scissors in this house.

I sneak downstairs, Lock wasn't anywhere in the vicinity. Good, because below the waist, I'm only in my pants. I check every drawer and finally find a pair of scissors sharp enough. With the legs shortened I try them on again. Perfect. I turn the kettle on and wait for it to boil. Where's Lock? He's probably in the bath again. He must find it comfortable. God, I hope he isn't covered in spiders again.

I'll have this tea and then I'll have to go in there anyway, if I'm leaving today, I ought to look presentable.

* * *

Alright, time to brave the spiders. Come on John, you're a grown man and you've been living with a zombie for the past few days. Spiders are nothing.

"Lock? You in there? I'm coming in."

I slowly opened the door to find Lock curled up in the bath, once again covered in spiders and cobwebs. If he were alive I'd almost think he was sleeping. I gently push apart the cobwebs on his face and remove the ones from his eyes. Or tried to. They were stuck on fast. Alright mate, we need to get you out of this tub. I flicked away any spider I could see and slowly pulled Lock out of the bath. Poor guy was covered in the webs. As soon as I set him down on the bathmat, he began to try and tear the rest of the cobwebs off his body.

"Here, let me." Guy might poke his eye or something.

I pulled on the webs covering his eyes, accidentally pulling out one or two eyelashes. Two pale eyes looked at me like a kicked puppy.

"Alright, it's ok, Ill get the webbing off your mouth. Stay still."

I tore it off his mouth and he stuck out his tongue and removed the bits that had invaded the inside of his mouth. He looked so comical I couldn't help laughing as I pulled him off the ground. I left him to remove the last pieces of cobweb and cleaned the bathroom mirror. I hope there is a razor here someone, I'm sure I need a shave.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I can hear the door open, good, John will save me. Why did I think this was a good idea?

"Lock? You in there? I'm coming in." Yes! Yes I'm here, in the bathtub. The spiders want to use me for their nefarious plans. You musn't let them, John.

I tried to get up but it's rather hard when one can't use their arms. I feel strong warms wrap themselves around me and pulled my body out. As soon as I was free, I attempted to remove the rest of the cobwebs from my body. Two hands grab my own. I feel John gently tug at the ones covering my eyes. Ah, light. Hello John. Can you please get the one on my mouth? I know I don't talk much but I'd prefer it wasn't there.

"Alright, it's ok, Ill get the webbing off your mouth. Stay still."

It comes off in when go and I stick out my tongue, the spiders had not gotten inside but some of the webbing had. Much better. Oh please don't laugh at me John. It was the spiders fault. Where are you going? He'd walked over to the bathroom sink and was searching through the drawers and wiping who knows what off the bathroom mirror. Ah, he's found what ever it is he was looking for. A razor? I stand beside him and watch. He chuckles to himself as he scraped the instrument against his skin. I touch my own smooth chin. Not a single hair. I suppose that would be one perk of being a zombie, never having to shave. He takes considers brushing his teeth, but the toothbrush has clearly seen better days. He settles for brushing his hair.

I look at my face in the mirror. I have dark red bags under my eyes, and the less said about my eyes in general the better. My skin is pale, I should get out more. Spend some time in the sun, maybe get a tan. My lips are blue and chapped. My posture is terrible, maybe John would take me more seriously if I wasn't slumped over all the time. And when was the last time I did my hair? I look horrific. Why is that again? Oh right, I'm dead. John's looking at me, quick, pretend your not angsting over your appearance.

John chuckles again. I like that sound. He picks up a large brush and gently runs it through the tangled mess on my head. The brush gets caught several times. I don't mind but John does. He's stopped, I guess he is done now? I turn around and stare at myself in the mirror. Well my hair looks much better now. It's almost a style. Thank you John. If this job of yours with the humans doesn't pan out, you should consider becoming a Zombie hairdresser.

* * *

**JOHN**

I leave Lock to stare in the mirror and head back to "my" bedroom. I pick up the small pack that contained the rescued supplies and fill it with the food supplies Lock had brought me. Now thats ready, I wonder if there are any other weapons in this place. Lock would know. Or perhaps he wouldn't. Wasn't there a harpoon in his bedroom? That would definitely come in handy. But the man must have had other weapons in this place. Didn't he defend himself before he was turned?

"Lock?"

"John?" Oh Jesus man, don't sneak up on me like that.

"Lock, do you have weapons here? You know, maybe a gun or a knife or something? Anything I could use to defend myself." I put my shoes on as he thinks. It's like watching a computer buffer or load.

"Yes." Brilliant!

"Show me."

He turns and leaves me room. Slow down! He takes out the harpoon from his room, it's taller than both of us and then walks towards the living room. Reaching underneath the couch he takes out a foreign looking sword. He also points to the cluedo board, the black dagger piercing the wall is the perfect size. Three new weapons. He hasn't another gun?

"No guns?" He shakes his head.

"Oh well, these will do fine. Um, look Lock, sit down with me for a minute." We both sit down on the couch.

"Ok, I have to leave very soon, do you understand? I have to take these supplies to people who badly need them. I'm grateful for your help, it's been fantastic. Now, you can come with me up until the compound is visible. Then I want you to return here. I'll talk to my superiors about you and hopefully they will listen. But I'm not making any promises here. You're different but to most people the only good zombie is a dead zombie. Do you understand me?"

He takes awhile to reply, his shoulders beging to slump even more. But he nods. Good. I couldn't leave without him anyway, his help will be invaluable. I was worried he might refuse. I don't think he wants me to leave. And to be honest I don't want to, but I have no choice. I pat his shoulder and left on a search for spare belts I could use to strap the sword to my side.

This was going to be dangerous but I'm looking forward to it. God I need an adventure.


	17. Chapter 17

**SHERLOCK**

At least I can go with him part of the way. And perhaps he might come back. One can only hope. I watch him bring his bag and gun into the living room. He opens the jar of jam and dips his finger inside. He sighs in pleasure and then closes the lid and puts it back into the bag. He uses an old belt to strap the sword and dagger, safely to his side. He's going now? But it's too soon. He can't go now. Why is he looking at me? It's rude to stare...something of which I am very guilty of.

He asks me if there is another bag he could use to put a few things he'd like to borrow off me. There is one in my bedroom. I retrieve it for him and watch him put a few items from each room inside it, including the book he was reading. He inquires if I want to bring anything with me so I place a few items inside the bag. He straps his to his back, and this one to mine. Oh that might have just cured my posture. Or made it worse.

"Ready?"

He hands me the harpoon as he fiddles with his gun. I want to shake my head. No I'm not ready. This is very not good. Can't you stay a little while longer? But my traitorous head nods anyway. Good he says, and smiles.

"Let's go."

Let's not and say we did.

* * *

**LESTRADE**

Bloody Mycroft Holmes. Did he think when he asked for my opinion, that I would refuse to let him go gallivanting after his dead brother alone? That I would stay at home in the compound and wait? Of course he didn't he knew I would insist on going with him. I did recommend a few good men to go with us of course. I made the mistake of telling everyone where I was going. Because who do you suppose we found waiting for us at the gate? Molly, Sally and Anderson.

"No, you three go right back where you came from!" Molly smiled mischievously.

"Listen Greg. I don't know about these two here, but I'm going whether you like it or not. Sherlock may be dead, but if theres a chance a cure can be found by capturing him, then I'm coming with you."

"And we're going because we refuse to let you get eaten by a zombie, on his account. Plus, he may be a zombie, but he's our zombie. And like Molly said, if capturing him helps find a cure, then we're all for it." Anderson rolled his eyes but nodded along with Sally.

They don't want Sherlock to be the reason any of us get eaten. But that just leaves Mrs Hudson alone in the compound. Shit, I can't lose these guys too. But I only have to look at their faces to know how impossible it would be to make them go back. I shrug a response to Mycroft, who ,by the way is wearing a goddamn three piece suit into a war zone, nods his agreement. They could come but neither of us will be happy about it.

"Fine, but don't say no one has warned you. Where we are going is highly dangerous. We don't even know if we will find him. All we have to go on is a few days old piece of CT footage. This might all be pointless. And we aren't just out here for him but for Doctor John Watson. He's was a soldier and is quite likely to be still alive. Is that clear?" Good everyone nods. You better nod too, Mycroft. Don't give me that smug smile.

"Alright, let's go."

* * *

**JOHN**

We are barely out the door before Lock grabs my arms and pulls me back inside. He keeps sniffing me and mumbling no over and over again. What is wrong with the way I smell mate? He shuffles into the kitchen and begins to pull things out of cupboards. Horrid jars of stuff that has long since gone off. Lock mixes several of them together into one empty jar and then sniffs it. I can smell it from here and it's disgusting. He brings the jar over to me and it's all I can do not to gag.

"Lock, that's disgusting!"

He purses his lips and dips his finger into the mixture and smears it across my face. God, the smell! I just washed, Lock! I think I'm going to throw up. He sniffs me again and nods, tightening the lid of the jar and putting it into his pack. What the actual fuck?!

"S-smell." You got that bloody right.

"No shit!"

"No. No. S-smell...live." I smelt alive before?

"This is supposed to be zombie repellent?" Shrugging is not an answer, Lock.

"S-smell..dead." Well I can definitely believe that.

"Fine, whatever, let's go."

It was nice to be outside after being stuck in the flat for three days. The street was mostly abandoned which was good news for me. Now, which way did we come? Lock starts moving in one direction so I decided to follow him. Unless he was completely lost and just wandering aimlessly like his kind does. I wonder where he got the food from? Is there anymore? And anything other than food that might be useful too? I should ask.

"Lock? Where did you get the food?" He points in the other direction.

"Would there be more?"

"Yess." Brilliant!

"Anything other than food?"

Again he nods. Great. I'll see if there's anything useful and then we really have to start moving.

* * *

It doesn't take long to arrive at the Tescos. I eye the other zombies, my gun ready. But the repellent seems to be working because they were completely ignoring me. Alright, what could I get here that might be useful to those at the compound? Well clothes perhaps, blankets, definitely check the healthcare section. Maybe a little of everything but not too much, we don't want to be weighed down. However who knows if we will be able to get here again. There are things here that might be really helpful to some people. We are rapidly running out of supplies. I take Lock aside and tell him which section of the store to cover.

It takes about an hour for us to both cover the store. Lock managed to get himself lost three times. Three...it's not a massive store. We managed to find large backpacks and put everything including the smaller backs inside. Mine was too heavy, so Lock put a few of my items inside his bag. I protested this, because I was concerned it would slow him down, but zombies are quite strong and since he feels no pain it didn't bother him.

"Alright, we better go. I want to get to the compound before nightfall."

"Yes."

"Is that what you say when you don't know how to answer? That and shrugging?"

"...yes?"

"You are ridiculous."

"...no."

That last reply was whispered. It made me chuckle nonetheless. This was going to be an interesting journey.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

This is going to be the worst journey ever.

But then never having been on a journey before, perhaps they get better. Right now it's incredibly boring. John isn't talking to me, he's talking at me. Rambling on about something I don't understand. What am I supposed to do? Nodding makes him continue, not nodding also makes him continue. It never ends! Either talk to me or not at all. Actually not at all, you'll attract attention.

See? What did I tell you?

"Shit." John lifts his gun but I quickly push down his hand.

"Pre...tend."

I mimed a stereotypical zombie walk, which by the way, is not how we walk. It's incredibly zombiest to assume such a thing. I am pretty sure that is not really a word but it is now. I invented it. He catches on quickly but is a terrible zombie. It's actually embarrassing to watch.

"Too...much."

Oh good, I embarrassed him. There, that walk is much better, see they are passing us by now. I hope the rest of this journey isn't easy, I do not want us to make record time, I do not want this to pass quickly. I want it to go very, slowly. But not so slowly as for it to be boring. I want a lot out of this journey thing.

"You alright mate?" No, don't look, he will see into my head and know everything.

"Yes...yes."

"You said yes twice. Whats going on? Honestly mate, tell me. The others are gone now. Talk to me. Please." Why does he have to be so nice? How does he know something is wrong? Now I can't refuse to tell him. Wonderful.

"Don't.. go...stay."

"Oh Lock. We talked about this, it isn't safe and people need me."

"..I need." I think I rendered him either speechless, horrified or confused. We keep walking while John decides how to continue the conversation.

"I'll come back, Lock. I promise you. Look at me. I promise you I will return. Alright?"

"Bet..ter." Alright, I'm holding you to this John.

"I will. Now come on, let's keep moving. That bags not too heavy for you?"

"Str-rong." That makes him laugh again. I love that sound. The dead don't laugh. I wish we did but that would no doubt prove to be very creepy.

"I'm sure you are. A regular superman."

Who?


	18. Chapter 18

**JOHN**

"Lock, I need to rest for a bit." I panted, leaning over, resting my hands on my knees. We'd been walking for hours.

I slipped the bag off my back and sat myself down on an old, decaying, park bench. Oh that felt good. I arched my back, hearing it crick and crack until it felt marginally better. Sorry back, you got used to that comfortable chair and bed, and now look what I'm doing to you. I raised my head up at Lock..who was still walking. Hadn't he heard me?

"Lock!" He turned around, confused to see me sitting down.

"W-what?"

"Tired Lock. I need a break. Give me ten minutes, alright?"

"Why?"

"Because normal living people need to rest break now and then. They can't just keep going like you zombies." He seemed to accept that explanation.

"Oh." Lock had his thinking face on for a few minutes before he sat down next to me. Idiot left his bag on.

Ok. Now what? A bit hard to make small talk with a zombie. Should we just sit here in an awkward silence for ten minutes? Or should I attempt to make conversation with a being that is conversationally challenged? Beats being bored I suppose.

"Lock?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember...anything from before you died?" He shook his head, the curls bouncing around limply. It's strange, zombies hair often look like it has died along with it's owner. Apocalypses are strange. Stop getting distracted John.

"Nothing?"

"No...gone." He mimed taking something out of his head and it disappearing.

"What is your first memory of being..like this? If you don't mind me asking?"

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I was not sure how to answer this because I feared the explanation would need to be lengthy and I am still not able to converse in more than one or two words. I would have to simplify this greatly.

"Tub." I woke up beside the bathtub, I think, my memory is gets foggier the further back I try and remember. I may have been half slumped over it. I remember having trouble getting up, as if I were a newborn animal learning to walk and stand. I was as weak as a kitten. I remember confusion. Of standing and seeing my blood covered face in the mirror. It was the first time I'd ever seen my face. I know my thought processes back then were very basic. Merely confusion, the feeling of extreme hunger and nothingness. I was a complete blank slate. I knew nothing and I felt next to nothing.

"Tub? The bathtub? That's what you remember?"

"Yes." Please keep up John.

"Then what?"

"I...uh..out..s-side." I moved two fingers to resemble walking. I went outside, still struggling to make these new legs do work. I remember screaming and the face of a bonie next to mine. But I don't know who was screaming. Me or it. I remember wandering around for days on end. Perhaps even weeks before another zombie approached me. It was A. I know that is his name now but I didn't learn that until several months after I had turned.

"You went outside and just...what?"

"Walk..." Good, getting better John.

"When did you give yourself a name?"

"Thr-ree...years.." Three years ago I was attempting to remember who I was. Trying to remember anything before being turned. All I could remember was someone shouting "-lock!". Nothing more. I know the voice was worried and that it was a man's voice.

"Yes?" John stop prompting me, this is not an easy task.

"I try..." I pointed to my head. Memory was too difficult a word.

"Think...who...uh.." I pointed to myself. This is exhausting.

"You can do it Lock." John smiled. Perhaps one day.

"Man...yell...-Lock!" Look three words! Huzzah. Oh frabjous day.

"You can remember a man shouting a word and the only part of it you remember is the word, Lock? Am I correct?" Yes John, very good. I nodded, already exhausted from such a long conversation.

"You didn't try before then to remember?" Must I keep talking?

"Mind...grow." I mimed growing. Or tried to. How does one mime growing? John seemed to understand.

"You were evolving, as a sentient being? It wasn't until three years ago that you had to ability to..remember that far back?" Yes, good! Can I stop talking now? I want to do that smiling thing again, if it will make you shut up. Please John, I want to talk to you but not now! Now I am the one who feels tired and that's impossible.

* * *

**JOHN**

I should probably stop asking him questions for now, his head is sagging and if he were human I think he'd feel exhausted by now. I will ask him again at a later time, when his conversational skills are better developed. He is getting better. But I think he has had enough questions. Even if I have a lot more I wish to ask him, I don't think he is ready to answer them. We better go, come on John, up you get.

Lock follows suit and we both make our way down the empty roads ahead of us. Lock's nose has been on high alert the entire trip so far. Anytime he thinks I no longer smell like a corpse, he smears that disgusting potion of his on my face. I'm glad his nose still works, I don't think mine does anymore. At least the stuff has been working, I can't complain about that.

Lock stops in the middle of the road, his nose in the air like a dog. He pushes me behind him and now I know something's up.

"Lock?"

"Sssh!" I look in front of him and spot several zombies staggering towards us.

Maybe the repellent needs replenishing and I can't believe I'm saying that. One of them stumbles towards Lock and snarls at him, it sniffs me and then Lock. Lock doesn't look as if this has happened before. Zombies mustn't fight with other zombies. This particular one pointed at me and shouted something unintelligible. Lock shook his head. He didn't understand that one either.

"Nnn...E-EAT! EAT!" This zombie keeps pointing at me. As if it can't believe Lock hasn't eaten me yet. Why does it care?

"No...A." A...is that it's name? Like Lock has a name, does this one have one too? God, what is happening to these creatures?

"EAT! EAT! EAT!" I think A disapproves of Lock's no John eating policy. Pity, I am in full support of it.

A looks at Lock in confusion and almost concern. He whispers eat again, as if to say, what's wrong with you mate? You are supposed to eat this guy. Lock remains steadfast in his protection of me. He keeps the harpoon in front of him as A moves over to sniff him. I can take care of myself you know, Lock. And then I hear screaming. A bonie. The sound is not unlike that of a human except it's more guttural more animalistic. You never forget it. It spreads fear amongst the zombies who scatter in every direction. A watches us for a moment before running as well. Lock turns to me and whispers one thing.

"Run."


	19. Chapter 19

**This may become Johnlock..just warning you.**

* * *

**JOHN**

"Run!"

He didn't have tell me twice. I followed him down the street and around the corner into an alley. I could hear the bonies screeching and their footsteps lightly hitting the pavement as they chased after us. There were five of them. And let me tell you one is more than enough. We ran through open buildings, across courtyards and over fences. Though Lock had a little bit of trouble with that one. He's not a graceful creature. And yet we still couldn't lose them. They were getting closer and I was begin to tire.

"John!"

Right, left John, left. Lock grabbed me by the collar and pushed me in front of him. He getting muttering run. Run John run. I shouldn't be the one in front. I have the gun and I also have no idea where we are. The screams get louder and Lock's hand is on my back, pushing me forward. And then we both stop. In front of us are four more bonies.

We were surrounded.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Oh no, they're everywhere. Behind us, in front of us. There is no escape. For some reason, this all feels familiar to me, but I can't recall ever being in this situation before. The bonies leave us alone. They are only interested in those with a heartbeat and our hearts are frozen, dead. John is as unsure as I am. His gun moves from each bonie, occasionally shooting, I want to tell him to stop, what if he runs out of bullets? I swing the harpoon around and stab one of them through the eye socket. It twitches and then goes still, I rip the spear out of it's body and slash it across another. But I fear my efforts are in vain. They are closing in on us.

I'm sorry John. This is my fault.

* * *

And then out of nowhere there is the sound of a motor, not a car, though I have only heard those once or twice, this was of a smaller vehicle. Some sort of cart perhaps. It zips across the pavement and smashes into the bonies in front of us. It's A. He motions for us to get in and I do so readily, but John is still unsure. Understandable, this man did try and tell me to eat him, only moments earlier.

"John..." You must get in the cart thing, John. Quickly!

"Lock, are you fucking kidding me?! I'm not getting in that thing!"

"John!" I try and reach him but he takes a step back. Now is not the time John, please, get in.

"S-safe." A spoke. A just spoke. I mean he does do that on occasion but this time it's different. His eyes ook..more alive, more aware.

"Lock?"

"Trust...me" I reach for his hand again and this time, to my delight, he grabs it. I waste no time in pulling him in.

A's little cart races down the road, the remaining skeletons follow, their speed is greater than a zombie's. This cart has limited speed and power. We will not be able to evade them for long. We would need a more powerful vehicle. And I know just where to find one.

* * *

**JOHN**

Another one. Another one of them is speaking. It's saving our lives, well my life and Lock's...death? I can't believing we are trying to escape these creatures in a fucking gold cart. Where did he even find the thing? Lock is sitting next to his fellow zombie, they groan at each other and occasionally Lock will tell him to turn left or right. The bonies are still with us. We can't keep this up for very long. I can ear the engine of the golf cart sputtering. We take a sharp turn into a parking lot and I nearly tip over the side, but Lock's hand grabs my own and holds tight. It's like holding a block of ice.

"Thanks mate." He nods and tells our chauffeur to stop.

There are still seven cars in this parking lot. Now I see why Lock brought us here. We could drive away in one of these. But we can't head back towards the compound, the bonies are in the way. And I can't let them follow us. I'll have to leave the city. It was not my intention but tomorrow we can head back and try another route. Maybe they will have forgotten us by then.

"C-choose." Me? I get to pick? Well I suppose I'll have to be the one driving. Haven't done that in a very long time.

There is a Ferrari in the parking lot. A fucking Ferrari. I'd be stupid not to take a chance at driving it. I stroke the red hood of the car and open the door. The keys are still in ignition. This was meant to be. I slide into the driver's seat and allowed myself a moment. A few seconds of a moment. Lock had trouble opening the passenger side door, so I opened it for him. I don't suppose there was any point in telling him to keep his seatbelt on. But I did anyway.

"You aren't coming with us?" A was still in the cart. Perhaps he was planning a distraction. I can believe a zombie could do almost anything now.

"Go! Bye..L-lock."

"No…" I could see the bonies ahead of us. It was now or not at all. Waving to A and wishing him luck, turned the key and put my foot on the accelerator.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I don't like driving, I don't like driving, I don't like driving. I'm going to die. Again. Stop the car. John!

I wish I could throw up.

* * *

**JOHN**

I don't care where we go, I just drive onwards. Until the skyscrapers turn into small buildings, then houses. I have to stop soon. It's getting late and I don't fancy driving in the dark. I drive down the streets of an unfamiliar suburb. Here is better than nowhere. I park the car outside an abandoned house. I open the door, my gun ready in my hand but this place is deserted. No zombies out here. Lock is still in the car. I walk around to his side and open the door. He looks terrified.

"I'd tell you to take a deep breath but I don't believe it would do any good."

"B-breath..ings bor-ing."

"Of course it is. Need any help?" He struggles with the seatbelt until I take pity on him and help. He propels himself out of the car with lightening speed and collapses on the ground. I think this zombie now has a phobia of cars. I help him up and together we walk to the front door of the house.

"Come on mate, you go inside and I'll get our bags."

Looks like I'm spending another night with the zombie from Baker Street.


	20. Chapter 20

**SHERLOCK**

I could have kissed the ground when John opened door and let me tumble out, my body sprawled across the grass. Sweet, stationary ground. I am sure that John is quite capable of driving a car under normal circumstances, however, I no longer have confidence in his driving skills. I lay face first on the grass until John lifted me to my feet and directed me to the front door of the abandoned house. The door was open, I let myself inside and began to wander from room to room whilst John brought in our bags and the harpoon. My hands searched for a light switch, finding one at the end of the main hallway. It still worked, not everywhere has electricity.

Most of the rooms were boring, however the dining room held several sources of interest. A camera, a wooden case and very angry looking cat. It's fur was matted but for the most part it seemed to be perfectly healthy. And no doubt quite delicious. Though flesh tends to taste the same after awhile, human flesh however does taste better. Which is why we prefer to eat them whenever possible. Animals are simply away to deal with the hunger when human meat is unavailable. It had not been that long since I ate something, I have gone without eating for a few months. And yet, here was food already laid out on the table for me. One shouldn't waste food when it's offered, should they?

I slowly stepped towards the cat, it's tail twitching in anger, it's haunches up and it's fur bristled. All it takes is one bite. I prepared to pounce on the animal, who apparently had the exact same idea because a few seconds later I had a cat on my chest and screeching out a war cry. I tried in vain to pull it off but it was to strong a fighter. John must have heard the cat's cry because he was in front of me in mere seconds, pulling the feline off my coat. I watched a button falling to the floor in slow motion before glaring at the creature.

"No, Lock. It's not food. It's someone's pet."

"But.."

"No but's, do you need to eat? Right now is it necessary?"

"No, but.."

"Then you don't need to eat it, don't be greedy Lock. If you can restrain yourself from eating me, then you can stop yourself from eating the cat." But it's not the same! I don't eat out of greed, I hate eating humans, so why can't I eat the cat? Of course I'd never attack you John, the mere thought revolts me.

I wanted to sulk and stamp my foot in frustration, I had been bested in battle and I wanted a rematch, the cat being the horrible animal it was, curled around John's shoulders, mocking me. I picked up the remaining objects from the table and stormed off into the living room. I could hear John cooing to the fiend, who had the audacity to purr. I will have my revenge, no one usurps me.

I know I am probably being petty, but emotions are new to me, so I am dealing the best way I can. Though it is no doubt still rather childish. But I don't know any better. I assume. Maybe I won't eat the cat, it would make John happy and truthfully I am not hungry. I know I won't be for awhile. But the more you eat, the longer you can hold of the zombie's curse, becoming a bonie. Zombies aren't supposed to be afraid of anything, we don't have emotions, we don't think, we don't feel. But everyone of us, has at least one fear. That we will one day become one of them and it's a realistic fear because we all will. It's just a matter of when.

If it ever happens to me...no, I don't want to think about it.

* * *

**JOHN**

I know he won't really eat the cat, I think it was more than it attacked him and he felt provoked. Poor thing probably hasn't seen humans, well _a _human in ages. I poured it a saucer of water and wished I had something to feed it, but it seemed well fed already, so I left it in the kitchen and explored the house , looking for a bedroom. The master bedroom would do perfectly, unless I wanted to sleep in a pink sheeted bed surrounded by posters of boy bands. And I really, really, really do not want to. I dropped my bag on the large bed and took out a few items. Mainly some tea and jam, my new pyjamas and dressing gown and the book I'd been reading.

I changed and walked around the room. The owners had taken anything of sentimental value from this room, books were left in a small bookcase, shoes and unwanted clothes on the floor in front of the wardrobe. This room even had an ensuite bathroom. I wonder...Where is Lock? I'd started a fire before I'd found him wrestling with the cat, so he better not be trying to discover fire in a personal sense. I am sure I'd put the grille back in place?

"Lock?"

"Yes?" Living room then.

I found him on the carpet in front of a couch, the contents of his bag, spilling across the floor and the pencils, which must have been in wooden case, were scattered in every corner of the room. Are those the things he decided to bring? The deerstalker, Bluebell, a rubix cube, some of the case files, a black rectangle (Not quite sure what that one was), the photo of him and his brother, a pair of black leather gloves and a children's book on bees. In his hands he held a polaroid camera. Oh that bring's back memories. I haven't seen one of those in years.

"Lock, we aren't staying here for long, there was no need to unpack." He grunted in reply, still in a bad mood then. I lifted the camera out of his hands.

"Quick, smile Lock!" The bulb flashed and Lock jumped back in alarm.

The photo showed a bewildered zombie staring in horror at the camera. Ok, perhaps a better one. "Come on Lock, it won't hurt you, try to smile. Say zombie apocalypse!"

This photo was a lot better, he managed an almost smirk, though his eyes, the most emotive part of him, were still wide and stricken with fear. I placed it back in his hands and showed him how to use it. He seemed to prefer to be the one behind the camera rather than the one in front of it. He took two decent pictures of me. This gives me an idea.

* * *

An hour later the floor was covered in polaroid pictures. A few "selfies" with myself and Lock, a photo with Lock wearing the deerstalker, one with him holding the black rectangle, which turned out to be a magnifying glass. He seemed to enjoy opening and closing it. He took a few more of me before I decided to take a few sneaky pictures of him when he was looking. I felt it captured the side of him only I'd ever seen. The lonely monster who only wanted a friend. These photos will be important. Because it is important to preserve the past and the present, the help the future. Though whilst some of these may help my case in defending Lock, others I wanted to keep for myself. Like the one with Bluebell on his lap whilst he attempted to draw a bee with his new pencils. Well that is what I think it's supposed to be.

I found myself yawning. Time to sleep I think. Lock watched me silently from his little corner of the room.

"I'm tired mate, I'm going to go to bed. Come on, you can bring those things with you." I gestured to the objects that surrounded him, then turned and headed up the stairs.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

He wants me to come? Why? I find him in the largest bedroom, our weapons spread across the floor, the windows covered by most of a bookcase now laying on it's side. I see, he wants me close for safety reasons. And probably to keep me out of trouble. That's justified I suppose. He pulls back the covers and points towards the bathroom. Curious, I followed his finger and opened the door. A large, white bath was situated on the right side of the little room. And inside it was filled with blankets, pillows and cushions. He'd realised I felt most comfortable here and made me my own bed.

Thank you John. Perhaps I should say that allowed. That's good, isn't it? Human's like manners.

"Thank..you." John grinned, yes I did the right thing.

"Night, Lock. See you in the morning. Sweet...um...good night."

Sweet what? I don't understand, what phrase were you beginning to say? Oh, you are already asleep. He must have been exhausted. He has been running all day with a heavy bag on his back, being chased by bonies and zombies. I was right from the start. He is a fighter, he is a strong man, a survivor. But he is still human, he should not push himself so hard. He might burn out.

I close the bathroom door, but not all the way, just so a small crack of light from the moon could trickle into the room. I curled up on my side in the bath. No spiders in here. I had brought my photos with me. I held them in my hands and thought about them for hours. What they meant, how were they created, could I take the camera apart without destroying it? I wished once more I could turn things off and sleep like John but the dead don't sleep. We are always awake. Eternal insomniacs.

I'll stare at these for awhile and then I'll stare at nothing. Should be a fun filled evening of nothing.


	21. Chapter 21

**LESTRADE**

We'd been walking for hours and I swear we were no closer to finding Sherlock then we were, sitting on our arses back in the compound. Of course we had yet to check Baker Street. I was doubtful that we would ever find him. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, with the haystack being a zombie infested London and the needle being a skinny, dead, consulting detective. It's not like I can lure him here with a mystery to solve. The man's a zombie, a mystery would be way out of his league, it would require thinking and zombies are rather lacking in that ability.

Goddamn it, just made myself fucking sad. Sherlock was an extremely intelligent young man, with a thirst for knowledge and enjoyed nothing more than solving a difficult puzzle. He loved his mind and now he's a mindless eating machine. With no thoughts running through his head. Probably quiet though, poor sod. I still can't get his face out of my head. It was so pale, well it was always pale to begin with but it was grey, the colour of a corpse. Which he is, just a walking one. His lips were blue and gone were those amazing eyes that saw everything and anything. He had the same eyes as every zombie. Pale with a dark ring. He was still wearing the coat, that bloody coat and scarf.

"Do you think we'll actually find him, Greg?" Molly's voice sliced through my thoughts like a sharp knife.

"What? Oh, dunno to be honest. He could be anywhere in London."

"However it is far more likely he will be somewhere in the vicinity of Baker Street." Yes, thank you Mycroft, I was just getting to that.

"Let's hope so, I'm not sure how much longer I can walk." Shut up Anderson, we're all fucking tired.

"Well, I'm sure we'll find him." I hope so too Molly.

I hope so too.

* * *

It took us two more hours before we reached the beginning of Baker Street. It was thankfully devoid of zombies, we'd managed to avoid most of them during our journey. Not an easy feat let me tell you. We reach 221b fairly quickly, most of us ran to be honest. The thought of somewhere to sit down was very appealing. The door was unlocked, which wasn't very surprising. Mrs Hudson's flat hadn't changed a bit. I must remember to bring her a few items of value, she mentioned them to me before we left.

Mycroft bounded up the stairs, two at a time. I followed closely behind, leaving the soldiers to cover the entrance. 221b was certainly a lot messier then I remembered. The floor was covered in boxes and objects of all shapes and sizes. In fact every room in the house bar one was exactly the same.

"Someone lit a fire in here recently." Mycroft's voice whispered behind me. I knelt down in front of the grille, why would a zombie need a fire?

"What do you see Mycroft?" Read us the room.

"All these things, everything in every room has no relation to each other. It's as if someone has collected or hoarded whatever he could put his hands on. The kettle and microwave were recently used, there is still water in the bottom of the kettle, look." There certainly was and not of the stagnent kind either.

"What else?"

"Come with me."

I followed him into the bathroom. The spider webs covered the ceiling, and most of the room. Except the mirror. The bath was filled with pillows and blankets, the shower floor was wet.

"What do you see, Mycroft?"

"Look at the bath, someone was been lying in there, maybe sleeping, maybe not. On the side of the bath there is a great deal of blood, and-" Together we removed everything from the tub and underneath it all was a large pool of dried blood. Shit. Oh Sherlock. "-something happened here. I think...I believe this is where he died. He was slumped over the side of the bathtub and..." Died.

Oh sunshine. He must have been attacked and returned home to nurse his wounds. He probably passed out against the tub and bled out. I hope he didn't feel anything. I can't imagine what must have run through his head, he would know his fate, know he couldn't do anything to stop it. I wish I'd gone back for him, but we couldn't, they wouldn't let us.

"Fuck." I placed my hand over my eyes and turned away. So much blood. Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

He would have suffered, that much blood however, would hopefully mean that it was a quick death. I turned away from the sight, the reason for his death was not important. Our goal is to find him now that he is dead. But I wasn't sure what to make of his flat. The only logical explanation was the least logical in every respect. A zombie, a mindless drone, had been collecting everything he could find. And someone living had stayed in his flat for the past few days.

Lestrade did inform me that he took Doctor Watson with him. Could he have brought him here? But it is completely out of character for the walking dead. They had no minds, no emotions. The only thoughts that ran through their decaying heads was of food. But it would be quite like Sherlock to not want to eat, dead or alive. The body was just transport after all.

"Do you think, he did all this? Brought all this shit here?"

"It would seem to be the case, Lestrade. I can think of no other explanation. I simply wished I knew why."

"Well he's not here, so now what?" Yes, what do we do now?

"Now, we rest. We will stay here tonight and continue tomorrow. We will visit all his old, haunts, and see if they will give us some clue of where he is." And what has become of him.

* * *

**JOHN**

_It was so cold, I could see my breath in front of me. The room was dark, I flipped a switch but nothing happened. I could hear movement outside so I grabbed my gun and opened the door. Suddenly I was on the street, the moon bright and full. I saw a herd of zombies slowly coming towards me. Lock was leading them. But it wasn't the Lock I knew. His eyes were empty, the life I'd seen behind them was extinguished. Blood dribbled down his chin as he bared his teeth. The harpoon was still in his hand. He thrust it forward and it pierced my stomach. Blood spattered us both with a splashing sound and I felt him pulling me closer with the spear. _

_"No. Lock.. please" I begged him to let me go. I was dead anyway, but I didn't want it to be by his hands. Come on mate, it's me, John. Please, god don't do this. _

_I tried to hold the bodily fluid, that trickled through my fingers, in but it was a useless effort. He grabbed my chin and hissed. I felt the harpoon being ripped from my body in one swift move and I screamed. I started to fall to my knees but I felt his strong arms around me. Please let me go. Let me die. Lock, why?! I looked up into a face that used to be so full of childish wonder, hidden sarcasm and an obvious mischievous streak. It held only hunger now. He dug his nails into the side of his cheek and pulled, the skin coming off like a Halloween mask. Revealing the dark muscled skin of every bonie. Half his face was human, half bonie._

_And then his teeth punctured my neck and...and..._

_and..._

* * *

I woke up. Oh God. Shit, fuck, fuck fuck. I buried my head in my hands and breathed deeply. In and out. In and out. I need to get out of here. I need air. Careful not to alert Lock, who I really did not want around me right now, I pulled on my dressing gown and shoes and left the house. It was dawn, I walked to the end of the street and sat on the grass to watch the sun rise. It felt so peaceful out here. I didn't have to worry about the walking dead, or the next patient or collecting supplies. I didn't have to worry about anything.

Just me.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

When the sun began to pour through the crack in my door I sat up and pulled myself out of the bath. I should check on John. I get distracted, I must make sure he is alright. I pull open the door to find his bed empty. That's ok, he must be downstairs.

He was not downstairs.

He wasn't in any room of the house. He was gone. John had left me. What if a bonie came into the house and took him? No I would hear that and there would be evidence. Everything I saw told me the same thing. John had left the house. Doesn't he realise how dangerous it is to be out alone? He's the living one, I shouldn't have to be the one to tell him that. I retrieved the harpoon from the bedroom and went outside. I hope he hasn't left me. I thought we were going back into the city together, that I would see him safely home. Why did he leave me? Did I do something wrong? Can I fix it? He didn't even say goodbye. I'm sorry John, please come back. Where are you? John?

"John?" Please answer me...


	22. Chapter 22

**I got to see Star Trek Into Darkness over the weekend, after Viclockcon! (Australian Sherlock convention), sdfuhdfgffgsdf all kinds of awesome, need more badass Benedict Cumberbatch.**

* * *

**JOHN**

"John?"

No, no, no. I can't have him find me. I can't bear to see him right now. Perhaps if I don't move he won't notice me. But then, his nose might. Fuck, I can see him now. And if I can see him, he can see me. He's running towards me and he has that fucking harpoon with him. Don't look, John. Don't look. Deep breaths.

"John?" Don't say it like that mate.

I don't want to look up but I do. He's nothing like the dream version. His eyes are wide with concern for my wellbeing. But he still has the harpoon. Why did he have to bring it? Out of all the weapons he could have chosen, why that one?

"...J-john...?"

He barely whispers my name this time, but it's enough to make me answer. It's so uncertain, he shouldn't sound so worried. Like it's his fault I won't answer, that I left the house without telling him. God, did he think I left him for good? Poor sod.

"Yes, Lock. What do you want?" He bites his lip, he doesn't know what he wanted. But at the same time I can see a billion questions zip through his head.

"I...I...you l-left." I was right. You thought I left you permanently. "...my fault?"

His voice was so quiet I barely caught that last question. Oh mate. I can't ignore you. You'd blame yourself a hundred different ways. I patted the grass beside me and he sat down, drawing up those long, gangly legs of his.

"It's not your fault, Lock. I had a bad dream. I needed some air." He nods, but I don't think he actually understands. He only wants me to think he does.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Lock..."

"...no?" I chuckled softly. The big fool.

"You were in my dream, Lock. Ok? It was a nightmare, that's why I left. I needed fresh air. You and that harpoon were in my dream. You... you attacked me." I wonder if he even remembers what I dream is. If zombies minds are wiped when they turn, how many ordinary things do they forget? Lock didn't even know how to draw, I'm not even sure he can read.

"I'm sorry.." No, don't say that...

"It's not your fault. It wasn't real. But it felt real. I'm sorry I left you alone in the house. I should have warned you. I probably scared you." Was fear something he'd felt yet?

"..Scared?...I was...I don't..." Yeah mate, you were scared. Even if it was just a fleeting slip of emotion, you felt it. It must have confused you so much. Sorry Lock.

"It's ok. I'll warn you next time, alright?"

"I..I'll protect...you."

"Thank's mate." My undead knight in shining armour?...Or tattered coat.

"Come on, let's go inside Lock."

"Ok."

I help him up from the grass and together we walked back inside. I stay as far away from that harpoon as possible though. Dream or not. It's a fucking pig sticker. He seems to understand my uneasiness around the spear places in a cupboard as soon as we are inside. He follows me to the kitchen and watches me make tea. I think he's afraid to let me out of his sight. Perhaps he thinks I will disappear entirely if he turns his back for only a moment. I never thought zombies would get lonely, there are so many of them, but I guess without means of communication they can and do. Or perhaps its only him.

The only lonely monster in existence.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

"John?" Where are you? My senses tell me that you are here but I can not find you. Please let me know you are alright. It is not unlikely that my kind may still roam these parts. Please.. answer.

I repeat his name and my eyes spot a figure sitting on the grass not far from my location, I run to that spot and to my relief it is John. But he won't look at me. He only watches the sun and sky and the clouds. It's as if he does not even know I am there. He does not look well, his eyes are red and his face pale. His body quivers. He looks at me with hidden fear. He is afraid of me.

"...J-john...?" I did not mean to frighten you..

"Yes, Lock. What do you want?" It doesn't sound right. He sounds fine but his appearance speaks louder than his words ever could. I don't know what I want. Unless, I want you John. I want a friend. Always by my side.

"I...I...you l-left." I thought I might never see you again. That you wanted to leave, which is fine, perfectly fine. If that is what you want.. "...my fault?" I just want to know why.

He tells me it's not my fault, he gives me his reason for leaving but I must admit, I don't understand. Dreams? Nightmares? These things seem foreign to me. The words I know it's one thing to know the definition and another to experience it yourself. I do not understand, John. I am sorry if something I did made you see these things that haunt you.

"It's not your fault. It wasn't real. But it felt real. I'm sorry I left you alone in the house. I should have warned you. I probably scared you." Scared? Fear is for humans. But that being said, I do experience the feeling of fear. I fear becoming a bonie, I fear losing the progress I have already made, I fear not being understood, I fear being along. I fear loosing John.

"..Scared?...I was...I don't..." It's a weakness, isn't it? You. Fear.

I told him I'd protect him, and I meant it. He was something that had become precious to me, in way nothing else had before. The only person to see who I am inside and the not the image projected to the world. He saw the sentient being inside with ideas and wants, needs and now emotions. He didn't see the walking dead, a plague ridden monster. He saw me. And I don't think anyone else has before. Because it feels new.

I follow him inside and hide the harpoon. It's obvious that he is still nervous about it. I don't want to let him out of my sight. He said he won't leave me just yet, so what I am doing is illogical. But I will do it nonetheless. He makes some tea to calm himself down and sits with me in the living room. I push my drawings and art supplies out of the way. I must pack them up later. Why had I never taken up drawing before. I can not write and I can not read, but drawing may be a pathway to both. And a way to remember things when they are long since gone. Should I draw John?

* * *

We sit there in silence for about an hour whilst John slowly drinks his tea. I think he has a lot on his mind. He will want to leave today and head back into the city. That means.. the car. Maybe I can convince him to walk. His driving skills are horrifying but I suspect mine would be no different. But walking would also take us longer to get into the city. Which means more time with John. But I doubt he will listen. I just hope he will stop feeling afraid of me.

Thats my greatest fear.


	23. Chapter 23

**JOHN**

After finding an unused artbook in the study, the rest of the morning involved teaching Lock how to draw. By lunch time his ability was begining to surpasse mine, not that I had much of one to begin with. His artwork is at least somewhat recognisable now. I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be a skull, could be a rabbit though. I don't want him to have to stop but I know we have to keep moving, we have to return to the city. While he draws I pack our stuff back into the car, my only issue now is to figure a way to get Lock in it. Which will not be easy. It would be nice to simply stay here, but there are people back at the compound that need me and the medicine I can provide.

"Lock? It's time to go? Come on mate." I have no doubt that he heard, he's simply choosing to ignore me. Well two can play at the game.

"Fine, I'll go without you then." I turn and leave, I barely make it to the front door before a whirlwind of black and blue sweeps past me and places his body against the door.

"Move, Lock. We don't have time for this. We have to go. You can either come with me or stay here." I try to push past him but he's being very difficult.

"No."

"Lock. Move."

"No."

"Stop being so stubborn, please move now!" He doesn't, he thinks he can get me to stay just by covering this exit. Well, Lock, there are more exits in this house.

He quickly catches on, but I manage to beat him to the back door this time. The cat from the night before is waiting for me on the steps. It leaps into my arms and I cuddle it closely. I may just bring him with me. He'll need a name. What about Gladstone? I find Lock by the car, scowling. Well as much as a zombie can scowl. Which surprisingly turns out to be rather a lot.

"It, goes." He points to Gladstone, he'll go with me, but the cat has to stay here. Sorry mate, I can't leave the poor thing here when it obviously craves companionship. Sounds a bit familiar doesn't it.

"No, Gladstone is coming with us."

"Glad..Gladstone?!" I open the door and Gladstone jumps from my arms to the front seat. He curls himself into a furry ball and makes himself at home.

"Get in Lock."

"No, cat goes."

"No, Lock. Cat stays. Zombie, in now." I swear he almost pouts before climbing into the backseat.

Feeling satisfied with myself I slip into the front seat and put my seatbelt on. I'd found a few CD's in one of the kids bedrooms and put one in the disc drive before starting the car. We speed down the streets to Highway To Hell.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

No, we can not leave now. Leaving means you leaving me. It means a permanent parting, no matter how much you say you will come back, you will not be allowed to. You must stay, please. Can't you leave your supplies to be found and come back with me? Why should they matter to you? They make your life miserable. I've made you happy, any idiot can see that. But then they are living and my heart is frozen, so perhaps they matter more because they are fragile creatures. And you feel it your duty to help them anyway you can, even if it's pointless. Because this world is pointless, isn't it? Every day the zombie hoard increases, as do the amount of bonies that exist. People curl up together in a prison of their own creation and for what? It's inevitable, there are too many of us. As much as I wish for you to never be like me, there chance that you will be is higher than 88%.

Perhaps if I had a heart I'd understand why you'd go back to something that causes you so much pain. Is there anyone waiting for you there? Does anyone miss you? Would they be missing you like I will be. With all their cold heart...when did I become so sentimental. I don't want to go back to the boring and mundane, the world was blue until you brought back the warm colours. I was content to be alone before because I was stupid, I was ignorant. But I'm not anymore. I'm learning more and more each day and I do not want to go back to how things were.

I should stop feeling sorry for myself. It's very unzombielike of me. Think happy thoughts.

What are happy thoughts...

* * *

I spend a hour of our journey glaring at the cat that John has had the audacity to name Gladstone. What a stupid name for a stupid animal. It continues to hiss at me whenever it catches me watching. I respond in kind until John threatens to hit both of us with rolled up newspapers. John's driving has only improved marginally. Perhaps it is because he is at a slower pace, or perhaps it's the new music that is blaring over the speakers. It's beautiful, haunting and calm. John said it was by someone named Bach. I wonder if I could keep the disc and find something to play it on. John can advise me on what is best.

* * *

BORED.

* * *

**JOHN**

We take the long way round and boy do I regret that decision.

* * *

5 minutes in: We stop so I can put Lock's seatbelt on properly. We do not sit in an upside down fashion in a moving vehicle.

* * *

15 minutes in: Lock starts hissing at Gladstone.

* * *

30 minutes in: He's still hissing.

* * *

45 minutes in: I threaten to hit him with a rolled up newspaper. He comments that he is not an animal. He sure acts like one I respond and he shuts up for the next twenty minutes.

* * *

1 hour in: I think he's sulking.

* * *

1 hour and 20 minutes in: He's kicking the passenger seat, Gladstone leaps to the head of the sit and swipes his claws at Lock.

* * *

1 hour and 35 minutes in: Lock is stretched out as much as his long legs will let him, on the back seat and Gladstone has decided to sleep on his stomach as some odd form of revenge.

* * *

1 hour and 50 minutes in: We stop the car while I explain we do not try and throw cats out the window.

* * *

2 hours in: We stop for lunch. Or rather I do. Lock is still sulking in the car. Of all the things he could have learnt or remembered, it had to be sulking. He's such an undead child.

* * *

2 hours and 10 minutes in: Lock says "Sign" everytime we pass one.

* * *

2 hours and 45 minutes in: I threaten to tape his mouth shut.

* * *

3 hours in: We stop again to fix a flat tire while Lock attempts to put Gladstone in the boot. I make Gladstone stay in the back and Lock in the front where I can keep an eye on him.

* * *

3 hours and 27 minutes in:...I think we're lost.

* * *

"Fuck." I knew I should have paid more attention to the road during our escape, but thing about running for your lives is you don't pay attention to where you are going. Luckily, I'd prepared for this when I borrowed a map from the study. I think we have to turn round. Brilliant, another hour with a zombie and cat in a small enclosed space. I open the door for Gladstone and start up the car again. Maybe the journey would be uneventful for now on.

"Sign."

* * *

20 minutes in: We stop the car to put stitches in Lock's scalp. Zombie or not, open wounds are not things to be ignored. I make a note to find a cat carrier as soon as we are in the city.

* * *

40 minutes in: Lock fiddles with the dashboard and manages to both break the windshield wiper button, blow up the cd player and change the date and time on the clock to 5:35 am 1895.

* * *

50 minutes in: Zombies should not be allowed in cars. Never again.

* * *

1 hour in: I can finally see London, thank, fucking, God.

* * *

"Sign."

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

As soon as I see London ahead, I open the door and tumble out of the car. I don't care how far we have to walk. We are in London, that was the agreement. No more cars, John. Cars are evil inventions designed to bore their passengers and frustrate their drivers. Walking is much better. Oh stop glaring at me, we both know you are happy I am no longer in the car. You were threatening to put me in the boot. No.. no don't drive away.. John!

Oh very funny, waiting for me around the corner. Very mature, doctor.

* * *

Are we there yet?


	24. Chapter 24

**MORIARTY**

"You must be mistaken. Check again and do be thorough this time."

"I was thorough last time. I know I'm right."

He can't be correct, poor Sebby. It's just not possible. It's also highly illogical. And yet, I can hardly deny the truth I see with my own eyes. But zombies and humans are enemies. They don't work together. It's just not done. But the CCTV footage doesn't lie. Which means this requires further investigation. Perhaps this is the breakthrough I've been looking for.

"Sebastian! Guess who's going on another hunt?"

"Better not be me."

* * *

**JOHN**

I allowed Lock to walk beside the car as I slowly drove through the outskirts of London. There wasn't much left in the tank and eventually it shuddered and died. Wonderful. I exited the car, leaving Gladstone inside. Lock watched me, not bothering to help. I all but threw his bag at him, hitting him in the stomach and knocking him over. Serves him right. I pulled my own over one shoulder and picked up Gladstone from the passanger seat. We needed to find a cat carrier or something to keep him safe. Must be a pet shop around here somewhere.

"Get up you clot. We need to find a pet shop, so keep your eyes out." He gives me a confused look, probably due to the use of the word 'clot'. But he is one.

"Why?"

"To protect Gladstone and if you say Sign even once from now on, I will tape your mouth shut." He fellows me with a glare. Well he can be angry all he likes, I'm angry. Let's all be angry. Except Gladstone.

* * *

It takes us twenty minutes to find a pet shop, with Lock whispering sign whenever we passed one, daring me to tape his mouth shut, but knowing I wouldn't do it. Not with a cat to look after. I think we both need some time to calm down after working ourselves up during our "road trip." Lock kicks the door open and drops his bag by the door. The place is covered in dust and to Lock's delight, cobwebs.

"Spiders...John!" No more spiders, please Lock.

I close the door and let Gladstone explore while I look around. I find a suitable cat carrier as well as a few other supplies. Not much, since we'd have to carry it. But it was important for Gladstone to be protected. Though it might be safer to let him roam around now that he was out of the car. Still I could get him a collar and food bowl. A loud clatter of things falling to the floor makes me jump and I whip around, my gun out in front of me. But it's only a sheepish looking Lock.

"Stay still, will you, if you aren't going to be helpful. This is what you need, isn't it?" I held up a collar and leash. "To keep you out of trouble."

He looks at his feet, he feels bad then. Don't take everything to heart mate. Whether you have one or not.

"Lock.."

"Out.. side. I'll go.. wait.." No, Lock. Dammit. Make this all my fault. Gladstone purrs as if he's had a victory and jumps into my arms.

Sighing, I follow my ridiculous zombie outside.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

It's not like I was doing things to annoy him on purpose. Alright, maybe I was a little. Ok, maybe a lot. But I didn't mean to make him angry. I was just concerned, he'd end up caring for a living thing more than me. But perhaps I'm being self centered, we barely know each other. Perhaps he doesn't care for me at all. Perhaps, no stop it. Don't think about it. Delete it. Wait.. what does that mean exactly? He's talking again, pay attention.

"Get up you clot. We need to find a pet shop, so keep your eyes out." Clot.. clot? Blood clot? What does he mean? Why am I a clot?

I ignore his threats and continue to whisper sign as often as I can. He never retaliates, just looks at me and sighs and then keeps walking. Some time later we stop in front of a shop. I throw my things to the floor in protest. What was the point in getting things for a cat? It still means you have to carry it. I'm sure it can take care of itself, John. Do be reasonable.

I trip over my own slow feet and fall against a shelf, it's contents falling to the floor. Oops? John looks at me like I'd broken his favourite toy. He's holding his gun. It's pointed at me...don't shoot.

"Stay still, will you, if you aren't going to be helpful. This is what you need, isn't it?" He holds up a leash and collar. "To keep you out of trouble."

I'm not an animal...

"Lock.." I'm sorry. I'll go outside so I don't bother you.

* * *

We walk in silence, neither of us know what to say to the other. I don't like cars, I don't like Gladstone. I do like John. But the previous two things have angered the former but I can't help feelings. Feelings are new. I need a lesson on feelings so I understand... the feelings. Instead I just get cruel comments and angry mutterings. I'm sorry, ok?

_Sign_

Gladstone walks beside John, while I now lag behind. I want to mend things before he reaches his destination. Because that could be soon, I am sure he hopes it is. I stare at the pebbles on the road as we walk, big ones, little ones, blue ones, blood soaked ones...I hit something solid and fleshy and realise John has stopped moving. And I now why, we can both hear voices coming from around the corner...


	25. Chapter 25

**JOHN**

Shit, people. If they see Lock...well don't have to imagine what they might do. I know. They'll shoot him without a second thought. I kick a door open and push a confused and protesting zombie inside. I keep my back to the wall and pull out my gun. Just because they're living, doesn't mean they're good. Plenty of people out there, content to struggle along on their own, not caring who they hurt. The end of the world does funny things to people.

"John?"

"Sssh. Stay put."

"But.."

"I said shut up."

"Who's there?" Shit, thanks a bunch, Lock. I give the zombie a look of disapproval and close the door.

"Who want's to know?"

"Blimey John, is that you?"

It's Lestrade, oh God it's Lestarde and he's alive!

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

It's very rude to push people into abandoned buildings, John. No matter what the reason. At least give me some warning first. I ended up on sprawled on the floor, with stupid Gladstone on top of me. Why he decided to follow, I don't know. It's not because he likes me. We both know he does not. I keep my ear to the door, to push the letter grate just a bit so I could talk to John. But he only wants to tell me to shut up.

Rude.

"Who's there?" Oh right, because that is sure to work, John. Use your brain, it works better than mine.

"Who want's to know?" I wouldn't worry now, they seem just as..well I wouldn't call you stupid, but what you said was stupid, so...

"Blimey John, is that you?" Wait, they know you?

Is it a friend of John's? Will he go with him? Take him home? No, John you promised! It took all my restraint, which wasn't much, to not open the door. Because a living man who was not John Watson was on the other side of the door and I had no doubt that he would shoot me. But if I stay here, John might go with him. I wouldn't blame him if he did. I would never blame him for anything. But..I hope he at leasts says goodbye...

I sit with my back against the door and listen. Gladstone decides to climb into my lap. I wonder if he can fit through the letter grate...

* * *

**LESTRADE**

I knew we were looking for him but I didn't expect to find him that quickly. We'd only been looking again for a few hours. And here he was! Safe and sound too. Looks better than I last saw him, if thats possible. I clap him on the shoulder and congratulate him for staying alive this long, in a city filled with the walking dead.

"I'm alright mate. You?"

"Course I'm alright, John. Thought we'd lost you. Where've you been?"

"Not now, not here. Is there somewhere we can go in private?"

"Sure, come with me, the others are waiting other there. There's plenty of empty houses we can chat in."

Together we walk, John keeps looking over his shoulder. Poor guy is edgy, s'alright mate, you're with us now. You're safe.

* * *

**JOHN**

Lestrade looks fine, perfectly fine. I was worried I'd left him to die, but it seems I misjudged him, he was capable of holding his own against a zombie hoard I don't know how he made it back in one piece, but he did. Good for him. Sorry I couldn't have been of more help though. My fault. Well.. mostly Lock's fault to be honest. Shit, can't let him see Lock. I need to get him away from here

"I'm alright mate. You?" Got yourself a bit of a tan have you?

"Course I'm alright, John. Thought we'd lost you. Where've you been?" Oh I doubt you'd believe me if I told you mate.

"Not now, not here. Is there somewhere we can go in private?" Sorry, Lock. I'll be back.

"Sure, come with me, the others are waiting other there. There's plenty of empty houses we can chat in."

I promise Lock. I'll come back. Stay there. I want to tell him but I can't draw attention to him. I see him looking through the gate and mouth the words. But whether or not he understands...whether or not he does as his told. The latter is more unlikely. But then, he could explore the house while he's waiting. I hope he understands that this is temporary. I'll explain things to Greg and hope these.. others, understand. If they don't I leave them and make my own way to the compound. I can't risk your life to make my own easier.

I will come back.

I promise.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

No.. John, where are you going? Come back! I want to open the door and grab him, but as I look through the grate, something in John's eyes, says no. He wants me to stay. But..I can't stay, what do you expect me to do? How do I know you will come back? You promised we would go together. You can't break a promise John. It's absolute. It's betrayal.

"John..."

"Meroaw!"

"Shut up." I am not petting you. Piss off.

"Mrrt."

"I said shut up!" No, don't paw at me.

I grab Gladstone by the scruff od the neck and put him somewhere far away from me. Might as well explore for the time being. If John isn't back soon..I will go looking for him. How do I know this people will let him return anyway. They might not listen to him. They might think him made and lock him up! An hour.. I'll give him an hour. I'm not sure how I'll know when it's been an hour...but it's important to make goals. I'll explore the flat, then look for John.

Gladstone, stop following me.


	26. Chapter 26

**SHERLOCK**

This house is moderately interesting. Family of five lived here. Two boys, one girl; the youngest. They have nice furniture, apart from the dust and cobwebs, the house is immaculate. I pick up a detailed model of the solar system, at least thats what I assume it is of, I am no expert. Gladstone has the same idea and bats his paw at the spinning planets. Horrible creature. I try to lose him by slipping into another room and closing the door. There, try and follow me now. I think I've picked one of the boys bedrooms. It's all in shades of black and red. I stretch myself out on his bedroom and star at the ceiling. How long has it been? How long has John been gone?

Something is clawing at the door. I fall off the bed and growl through the crack between the door and the carpet. A slim paw catches my hair and pulls. Blasted animal! I rip his claws from my curls and open the door, bearing my teeth. Gladstone jumps back and runs away, his tail kinked. Oh you think you are so funny don't you. Come back here!

* * *

**JOHN**

Lestrade led me back to a small group of people waiting just around the corner. Without talking we headed to one of the many empty houses in the street. The soldiers with them stood guard while we made ourselves at home in the living room. Hell one of them even started making pouring tea from a thermos. They were an odd group, Lestrade, two women, a young man with a disgusted look on his face at his surroundings and the government official I'd often seen around the compound. We sipped our tea in silence whilst I worried about Lock. Was he behaving himself? Probably not.

"So, you are Doctor Watson, pleasure to finally meet you." Finally meet me? What's that supposed to me?

"Um, same. Sorry, you are?" There is something about the man that tugs at my memory, not just from seeing him in the compound. It's something else...

"Mycroft Holmes, at your service. You've met Lestrade, meet his former team, Sally Donavan and Marion Anderson." Marion?! Oh the poor man. Actually that is pretty funny. "And young Miss Molly Hooper."

"Hello!" She waved at me very enthusiastically.

"Hi..why are you all here if you don't mind me asking? Can't all be here for me." Though I'm flattered if you are.

"Quite correct Doctor Watson. Finding you was only part of our mission."

"Thought it was something like that. So come on, why are you here?" Lestrade and this...Mycroft person, give each other a look. Are they going to bloody tell me or dance around the issue. I have a time limit here guys. Get a move on.

"What do you know of Sherlock Holmes?"

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

"Stop.. crying!"

"No.. don't..."

"Not.. my fault!"

"Shut.. up!"

I hate cats.

* * *

**JOHN**

"Nothing whatsoever." Name didn't ring a bell. Should it have?

"Are you quite sure, because you have been seen in his company." Mycroft produced a photo from his suit's jacket pocket and handed it to me. Seen in his company? The only person I'd been with lately was ...oh.

The photo was of Lock. Though a much younger Lock. At least a decade younger. He had a sour expression and a younger version of Mycroft holmes stood next to him, a bright smile on his face. Lock looked like he wanted to murder the photographer. So Lock's name is actually.. Sherlock? Weird name but I'm not one to judge. I have to admit I prefer Lock. It suits him somehow. Sherlock Holmes though, did they come here to rescue him? Surely they know he's..well dead. Especially since Lestrade would have seen him.

"Well?" Oh right, they'd be waiting for me to reply. I produce two of the polaroids from my wallet and pass them to Mycroft.

The rest were with Lock. These two were my favourites, the one of Lock with it's wide eyes and half smirk, and the one with him holding Bluebell to his chest with one arm, and drawing what I think is a duck, with the other. Mycroft takes them, surprised but curious. His eyes widen and he shows them to Lestrade. Also surprised. Well, I don't blame them. Lock isn't exactly a normal zombie. I should get back to him before he panics or something. God knows what he'll do then.

"Definitely him." Mycroft hands me back the photos. "Tell me about him."

"Can it wait? Only I left Lock by himself and he'll be bored to bits right now."

"Lock?"

"Sorry.. um...that's what I call him. Should have said at the beginning but everything happened so fast."

"Why do you call him Lock?" Mycroft sits forward, I sense he's very eager to know the answer. Especially since if I never knew his name was Sherlock, why would I call him by such a similar name?

"I didn't. It's what he calls himself." I stood, the others following suit.

"Zombies don't have names." Says...Sally?

"Well this one does. Is there somewhere else we can meet?" Mycroft nods but I suspect he has many more questions.

"You know Baker Street? There is a flat-"

I interrupt him. Sorry, not sorry. "221B right? Sorry, I left him with the cat. God knows what he's done to it now. I'll be there soon!"

I felt sorry for running out on them but my main concern was a panicked zombie and an angry cat. Neither should be in the same vicinity as the other. And given that we were mad earlier and the last time I left Lock he'd come after me with a spear, concerned for my safety, I should really make sure he's alright. The place is luckily not far and the flat is still intact, so everything looking good so far. The door is still on it's hinges. Lock is nowhere to be seen though. I push open a door, which leads to the living room and see little red paw prints covering the carpet, leading out towards ...the bathroom.

"Not my.. fault."

"Oh Lock..."

There is paint everywhere and one very angry ,and now red, cat.

Wonderful Lock, just wonderful.

"..Sorry."

"Sure you are. Come on, let's clean him up. And I need to talk to you about something. A very important something."

"Ok."

"You have a red paw print on your face."

"Yes."

"You going to wash it off?"

"...yes?"

"...Come here, you are utterly ridiculous."

"...no."


	27. Chapter 27

**SHERLOCK**

It's not like it's my fault, John. It was the_ cat's_ fault. I got in my way and I knocked over the paint. You can hardly blame me for something that _it_ did. I scrunch my nose as John wipes the paw prints off my face. Turns out there was more than one. Horrible animal. John gives me an exasperated look, which I'm not sure I quite understand before proceeding to wash Gladstone. The cat seems to actually like the water. Not like the other cats are you. Fine so we share one thing in common. Doesn't mean I like you. In fact.. I don't.

"So, that man I was speaking too, he took me over to a group of people and..." And what? Why won't you look at me?

"And?"

"...And well, they know you, Lock. Or rather they knew you, when you were alive I mean." They knew me? They knew who I was?!

I'm not sure how to process this new information. Part of me doesn't want to know, what they know. The other half is desperate of knowledge of my old life. But what if I was a bad person? What if I was horrible? I might have had no friends, I might have been lonely, I might have been hated. I'm afraid to know the truth. I want to discover it for myself or not at all. Will they force the truth on me? Or do I have the decision to not meet them at all? Leave things as they are, John goes and I wait and he comes back and we continue like before. But why are they here? And why now?

"Lock? You ok?"

"What?"

"I shouldn't have said anything. But I had too, they want to meet you and I wanted to warn you. But you don't have too. Ok? If you don't want to, I won't force you." John lifts Gladstone out of the bath, now stained red, and dries him off to the cat's utter delight. It purrs. How horrid.

Should I? Or shouldn't I? I don't know. I don't know what to do! I..can't decide.

"I.. don't..know." John grasps my shoulder and squeezes. It's an order gesture but it's comforting.

"It's alright, Lock. They're going to Baker Street. Do you want to spend the night there? You don't have to talk to them, pay attention to them or anything. We stay there tonight, and leave again tomorrow. Either as one big group, or just you and me. What do you say?"

"T-to..together?" Just us, they don't come with us?

"Of course. We don't know any of these people, well I know one but, we trust each other, don't we?" If you only knew John.. you wouldn't trust me, and I regret it so much.

"Yes."

"Alright then." Gladstone licks John's chin and growls at me before heading towards the, now opened bathroom, door. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"Now Lock."

I follow him out, a million thoughts running through my head.

Well, probably not literally a million.

* * *

**JOHN**

Cleaning Gladstone proved easier than I imagined. Most cats hate water, Gladstone seemed to enjoy it. Which meant my only problem was Lock. He wasn't taking my news very well. His eyes were wide and he kept biting his lip. I would tell him to calm down but I don't think it would do much good. He just seems very confused, very worried and it's expressed all through his eyes and open mouth. All his emotion is expressed through his eyes, he still hasn't learned out to express it with a smile or a frown. In time perhaps. Or maybe it will always be this way. Who knows how far he will evolve and whether he will stop at a point and not progress further. That's a rather depressing thought.

"Lock? You ok?"

"What?" No, you aren't ok mate. It's alright, I'm here.

"I shouldn't have said anything. But I had too, they want to meet you and I wanted to warn you. But you don't have too. Ok? If you don't want to, I won't force you." I know they are waiting for us, but sod them. I don't know them. I don't want to force you to do something you don't want to do. Just because you're dead, doesn't mean you have no rights.

"I.. don't..know." Oh Lock. I squeeze his shoulder and he gives me a 'what are you doing' look.

"It's alright, Lock. They're going to Baker Street. Do you want to spend the night there? You don't have to talk to them, pay attention to them or anything. We stay there tonight, and leave again tomorrow. Either as one big group, or just you and me. What do you say?"

"T-to..together?" Of course, they can piss off for all I care.

"Of course. We don't know any of these people, well I know one but, we trust each other, don't we?" If you only knew John.. you wouldn't trust me, and I regret it so much.

"Yes."

"Alright then." I finish drying off Gladstone and open the door for him. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"Now Lock." Come on mate.

* * *

We walk in silence, Gladstone occasionally darting in front of us or winding himself around Lock's legs, trying to trip him over. He succeeds once. Three times we had to run through alley ways and create shortcuts in order to escape from Lock's fellow zombies. Who aren't as human friendly as he is. It takes as over an hour to reach Baker Street. My fault, my shoelace got caught around the jagged edges of a gate. Lock tried to untangle it for him, but only managed to make it worse. He paused at the door of 221b after I opened it. He was afraid to enter his own house?

"If you want, you can go straight to your room and I'll talk to them, then talk to you." By your room I think we both know I mean the bathroom. Lock nods and pushes past Gladstone, who leaps up the stairs and stops whenever Lock reaches a particular step. I swear Lock will kick him if he doesn't stop being naughty. I watch Lock make a dash for the bathroom and slam the door. I listen to the voices coming from the living room and take a deep breath.

Time to talk about zombie detectives.


	28. Chapter 28

**SHERLOCK**

Someone has been in here, the bath is empty, all it's contents are strewn on the floor. I clench my fists, I don't like people touching my things, John is the exception however. The bath must never be emptied, because then what lays at the bottom, can be seen by all. For some reason it must never be seen. I don't know why, but it's what I think of when I look at the dark, red stain. It feels wrong. It's too much blood for someone to lose and live. I throw everything back into the tub, there was no order to it, I did so under a compulsion I didn't understand. And when it was full, I lay face first on top of the pillows, cushions and blankets. The bathtub was also my birthplace. It is simultaneously my crib and my grave. My last and first moments took place where I lay. Strange they should be in the wrong order. People are born first and die last. Isn't that correct? Is that not how life is supposed to be? And yet I died and was born again.

I feel a large furry foot on my cheek and place my hand just in front of it. I feel it's little legs testing my hand before walking across it, not sure if I was safe. I'm not sure either furry one. He is a lot larger then the spiders that usual live amongst the webs in my ceiling. He must be new. John has Gladstone, maybe I should have this one as a pet. I could call him...Grimm. I do understand John's need for an animal companion, a pet. He wants something to care for, something that will love him unconditionally and provide him with warmth and ease the loneliness that lies close beside his heart. Which means back home, he has nothing, he's alone. And I can't provide him with the warmth and love he desires because I am dead. I can't ease his loneliness because I can not return with him. I too often thwart his attempts to take care of me because he is a doctor, he takes care of so many others, why can't I be the one he does not have to worry about. But he does anyway. And I don't feel like I deserve it.

"It's not fair, little crawler, he will hate me before this is over. When he finds out the truth...he will no longer wish to be my friend." I whisper to the little spider, who can hold all my secrets and never breathe a word. The perfect listener. "The others will take him away and I will be all alone again..."

It was hard enough the first time, I fear it will be worse if it happens again.

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I expected that when Doctor Watson arrived, my brother would follow. However the good doctor was alone, save for a small, slightly red, tabby cat. Was he unable to persuade him? Was it even possible for him to be persuaded? I doubt very much that a member of the walking dead, even my brother, would be capable of being reasoned with. This is of no consequence, we will simply use other means to capture him. Doctor Watson seemed very at home as he strode into the kitchen and proceeded to heat up the kettle. He had left two large bags by the living room door, he could not have possibly carried both himself. But the only other explanation was preposterous.

"Doctor Watson?"

"One moment! Tea is nearly done." We just had tea a few hours ago, doctor. I am sorry if it was not too your liking.

Watson passed around cups of steaming hot tea, proper tea at that. I wonder where he found it, leaves of such quality did not exist within the compound. It is sublime. But I must not allow myself to become distracted. I am here about one thing only. One person. As I glance around the room, I see I am not the only one with questions to be answered. They are waiting for me to start. I will not disappoint.

"Forgive me, Doctor Watson but where is my brother?" I see Watson's brow furrow as he tried to remember who I meant. I had not directly referred to Sherlock as my brother but I would have thought the photo of us would have made it obvious. Perhaps not.

"Oh! You mean Lock. He's hiding." Hiding? Why would the dead want to hide from the living?

"What do you mean hiding?" Lestrade had finally found his voice.

"I mean exactly what I said. He's hiding. He's..concerned about meeting you all. He's-"

"Zombies don't get concerned, they don't get anything."

"Sally, let him continue. Though she has a point mate."

Watson put his glass down by his chair and leaned forward. Sargent Donavan had a point, the dead do not feel. That is in part why they are so dangerous to the living. But unless Watson has projected human feelings on a corpse, and he seems a smart man I doubt this is the case, perhaps my brother, has become something more. Something different. But such things are impossible. That would mean a cure or a treatment at the very least, for the walking dead. Unless we have misjudged an entire race of creatures purely because they can not speak. Though they do attack us without provocation, which hampers someone from using that line of defence. I sense Watson has a lot he wished to tell us but no idea where to begin.

"It's hard to explain."

"Then begin at the start, Doctor Watson. Tells us from the beginning what happened. You may skip the particulars, but you must tell us why you think he feels. The dead are unable to feel or think anything and it is clear you disagree with this. Please." I waved my hand for him to continue, eager to hear the answer.

* * *

**JOHN**

I felt their eyes following my every move, they don't know me, they are wary of me. It's an interesting feeling. It's also an annoying feeling. I tried to be courteous and make them a cup of proper tea, not that pathetic imitation they gave me earlier. After several teas drinking good tea, I'd forgotten how bad it was back home. It's strange how much at home I felt here. I'd left my bags at the door and headed straight into the kitchen, as if I did so every day. I can see living here if things were different. Perhaps one day I can.

"Doctor Watson?" Oh right, the tea.

"One moment! Tea is nearly done." I pour several cups and slowly share them to my waiting audience. I felt almost a perverse sense of delight as I watched their faces whilst they sipped the tea. Now that my friends is a proper drink.

"Forgive me, Doctor Watson but where is my brother?" Brother..wait Lock is his brother? I thought old friends, there isn't much in the way of family resemblance.

"Oh! You mean Lock. He's hiding." Actually he's just being unsociable. No, that's a bit harsh. He is very conflicted at the moment. Understandable, I would be too.

"What do you mean hiding?" Lestrade asked with a note of disbelief in his voice.

"I mean exactly what I said. He's hiding. He's..concerned about meeting you all. He's-"

"Zombies don't get concerned, they don't get anything." Hey, listen here, don't talk about things you don't understand. Maybe the rest of them don't, but this one does!

"Sally, let him continue. Though she has a point mate." Thanks Greg.

Where does one begin? How do you explain a new concept to a group of people who may not believe a word that comes out of your mouth? Alright Mycroft, I'll start at the beginning.

* * *

I tell them about how we met, how Lock took me home and introduced himself. I told them about his progress, how one word turned into two, then three, and perhaps soon even four. Incredulous snorts sounded throughout my speech, coming from the same three people. Miss Hooper and Mycroft however, hung on my every word. Lock's emotional journey was hard to explain, because he is unable to fully articulate how he himself feels most of the time. But emotion was always present in those two, grey orbs. Lock had a sense of humour, he could think, I suspect better than he lets on. He feels fear, he's stubborn and cheeky. He gets bored. How many zombies get bored?

He's unique, special and my life has become better just from meeting with him. He is not like the other zombies, he's more evolved than them. My zombie friend still suffers from the effects that come from being a walking corpse but he doesn't let them get in his way. Unless he is trying to be difficult, then they are the hardest things to deal with in the world. I know they might not believe me, I wouldn't believe me had I not experienced all this for myself. Or seen the fear and confusion in his eyes when I discussed with him this very meeting. He froze, he has never frozen in such a way before. It was like his brain was a computer overloaded. Which is why he is currently hiding. He can't process what I've told him, or doesn't want to.

"I don't care if you dismiss everything I say. I don't care if you don't believe me. But every word I've said is true." This very house is proof that he is different!

"It's... it's a lot to take in mate.." I know it is. But you will all have to accept it if you even want to get close to him.

"Would you mind letting us talk in private for a few moments, Doctor Watson? Perhaps check up on dear..Lock." That's actually a pretty good idea. By right back.

"Sure. Just call out when you need me."

"Thank you."

Lock better not be covered in bloody spiders again, or so help me.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for this being late. I had a recent review (and I appreciate all reviews) that just made me worry about the quality of my writing. It was described as emotionless and sterile. Which was never my intent when writing this fic. I want to convey emotion, not the opposite. So I apologise if its come across as that. I'm not a great writer, never pretended to me. Would love to be though. I've also never written in first person before. So I'm constantly confused which tense to use because sometimes any could work, sometimes its clear only one can. My vocabulary when reading is high, when writing its like it all disappears from my head. My grammer and spelling is atrocious because I write extremely fast to keep up with the story running through my mind and my hands are often bandaged, gloved or just painful in general. So I make a lot of mistakes. Often very stupid ones like the wrong word because what I type and what I think aren't always the same. I'm writing a word but I've written the wrong word or spelled it wrong because when I was reading it my eyes glossed over it, I'm reading it in my head and not on the page.

I try and correct everything I see after its done. But as I said, sometimes I miss things, its obvious to the reader, who didn't write it, but not to me. Thats why betas are important. I want one, I don't have one. People have offered and then never responded when I ask for help or say yes. Sometimes my timezone is even a factor. I'm not trying to excuse everything thats wrong with my writing. I want to be better, I know I have come along way from trying to write stories in school. But theres much better fanfic writers out there that could write this story better than me. But its in my head and it needs to get out whether my writing is shit or not.

Long story short if you came hear looking for an amazingly written fanfic with brilliant dialogue and a well written plot, then you probably came to the wrong place. One day perhaps, I will be capable of writing that. But it is not this day. This story has already received reviews on AO3 which had never really happened before. And never so quickly has a story of mine been favourited or reviewed. It may not be well known among the fandom (i wish my fics were omg that would make me so happy) but I love each and other person who takes the time to read this and my other fics and not care about all the mistakes, all the poorly written chapters. You still come back, day after day and thank you so much.

I am trying to up my game now, things will start happening. The only thing I can promise is that I write in character. And something sad will happen to out zombie detective.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews. Though I want to stress the reviewer was not negative or a troll or anything. That was simply how they viewed my writing and I wanted to make sure no one else did, as it was not my intention for it to be viewed that way. Thank you so much for your offers of betaing this fic but I have since chosen one. But I have several other fics that require betaing. Some are finished, some are ongoing. So if you are interested let me know. **

**Thanks again w really. It means a lot. (this fic isn't beta'd lol, in case you were wondering. The next one will be and I will slowly have the previous chapter's done so...yeah look out for that. Also this fic is going to be translated! Into.. russian? I think...not sure. Anyway, that's exciting :D)**

**And I've drawn three pictures so far and two other people have drawn pictures of this pic. I can't put them in...but I can link them if people want..**

**Yeah.. enjoy this filler chapter.**

* * *

** SHERLOCK**

They're taking an awfully long time. Surely all John needed to say was "Sorry, not interested. Bye!". And yet he's been simply ages. At least I've had Grimm to amuse me. And the contents of the bathroom drawers. I may or may not have constructed a model of a house using toothbrushes, bandages and other assorted items. And I possibly drew a bee in toothpaste on the mirror...Point is, if he doesn't return soon I may go mad. Dealing with boredom is obviously not one of my strengths. However I can be very creative when trying to relieve it.

I was in the middle of constructing a slingshot of sorts when I heard something scratching at the door. When I turned, I could see a little paw reaching underneath the wood. I do not want to let him in. I turn back to my project. Slowly the door creaked open. It had not been completely closed as I had led myself to believe. In a flurry of movement I leaped into the bath and attempted to hide. Maybe he would bore himself and leave.

"Merow?" Don't answer, it's a trap.

* * *

After ten minutes of hearing nothing more from the disgusting creature I peered over the edge of the bath to see if it had left. It turned out to be right next to the tub, just waiting. It leaped into the bath and onto my chest. Get off! I considered grabbing it by the scruff of it's neck and throwing it out, but I'd already received stitches today as a result of manhandling the cat. I don't think John would be too happy to have to stitch up a new would so soon after the old one. So I let Gladstone stay on my chest, not out of the kindess of my heart, but out of laziness and a desire to remain whole. Sensing he'd won, Gladstone moved and then curled up on my stomach. John of course chose that moment to enter the bathroom. Good! He can get this.. thing off of me.

"John!"

"Hey mate.. they wanted to talk in private, so I came to see how you were doing..." Ah! Thank you John.

"Save me..."

"Save you?..Oh!" John leaned over and lifted Gladstone off my stomach. Great, my coat is covered in cat fur. Just what I wanted.

"Thank.. you"

"Don't mention it. I just came in to..is that a spider on your head?!" I cup Grimm in my large, cold hand and place him onto my chest.

"Yes."

"Oh God, Lock. Why?!" I'm sensing that John might have a fear or dislike of spiders...

"He's...my p-pet."

"Your...Lock, spiders aren't pets!" Well mine is! I turned away from him, careful to not jostle Grimm.

"Lock...alright. He's your pet. Ok, I get it. What's his name then?"

"Grimm."

"Grimm? What sort of name is that?" That's a bit insensitive, John.

"Gladstone."

"...Alright fair point." Thank you.

* * *

"Are you still sulking?" Maybe.

"Look I need to talk to you. I talked to them about you. Told them what you were like, how you acted, how you feel. Not sure if they believed me or not. I think what I'm trying to say is, do you want to meet them. They badly want to meet you, mate. But you don't have to. If it's too hard for you I understand."

I felt his hand once again, placed on my shoulder and I leaned into it. I know I have a choice but it's such a difficult one, how do I know if I have chosen correctly? What if I regret my decision? And if I do meet them, will they tell me who I was? What I was like? I'm not sure if I want to know. I'd rather find out for myself or not at all. John will be with me though, won't he? If I go and meet them? I turn my head and look into his concerned face. Yes, I am sure he will come with me if I ask. He cares too much.

"I.. don't know.."

"It's alright mate. What about meeting them one by one perhaps? Or meet one of them first, then meet the others? We don't have to jump head first into this."

"I .. don't know!" I don't know, John! Ok?! I...I.. can't do this. I want both options available to me. But I also want neither of them. I don't know what I want. I always know what I want. I think I'm scared, John. What do I do?

* * *

Perhaps I should just let John decide. I trust that he will make the right decision. And if things don't work out, I can always scare whoever comes in, it's not difficult. Simply bare your teeth, growl and drool a little and pretend that you are about to leap towards them. However there is a possibility that they may be carrying weapons, so that might not be the best course of action. Pity, it sounded fun.

"John?"

"Yes, mate. What's up?" The sky? Spiders?

"Would you...c-choose?" I could have sounded a bit less terrified then, I think.

"Me? Sure. Uh...ok. Give me a minute to think." What's there to think about? Yes or no? Rather simple don't you think. At least it is when it is not your former life and memories hanging in the balance.

I let John sit with his back against the tub and contemplated on whether or not I should throw a blanket over him. He looks cold. I also have a strong desire to create a fort of some kind. Anything to take my mind off his approaching decision. I wonder what cons and pros he is thinking of. What reasons he will use to eliminate one choice. Are they the same as mine? I've often wondered how his mind works. It stands to reason that a living mind works faster than a dead one. After all it can take me awhile to reach a conclusion on something. Or to remember where I'd put an object when asked. I know my brain is slower than John's, however I can observe in a way he can not. I can make the connection's that his brain doesn't know how to do.

"Lock?"

"Yes..." Well?

"I have decided, that you should meet them. But one at a time. At least, for the first person. I think you would both benefit from meeting each other. However I will tell him that if you express a desire to not learn anything about your old life, then he is to respect that. Alright?"...I suppose I have no choice, as I have been unable to make one.

"...Fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes." No.

"Ok, I'll go tell him. You stay put." Where would I go?

Am I going to regret this?

* * *

**MORAN**

I do believe this will be a pointless endeavour Capturing a zombie isn't easy and he expects me to capture one that exhibits a higher level of brain function than most of the walking dead. Plus, he has a human with him. An armed human. But's he's the boss and I can't say that it isn't an unenjoyable experience working for him. It used to pay extremely well. Back when money was important. Now it gets me free board and meals, something to stop the boredom and it keeps me alive, keeps me sane. He's not though. Doubt he ever was. The mad genius type he is. A genuine mad scientist. When he gets bored of his experiments it's my job to get rid of them.

A lot of them fail. This thing, this project he's been working on, he's desperate to get it working. Want's to rule the world, but discreetly. Find a cure for this apocalypse, but keep a supply of immune zombies at his estate. But the problem with the undead is that they don't follow orders. They can't, nothing upstairs. But if you could harness that dormant brain, that dead flesh and you could control it. Imagine what you could do. Who you could control. Dead or alive. I don't know. I don't understand half the things that come out of that mouth.

But that's why he's become so obsessed over this particular zombie since he saw the footage. If it's capable of this level of thinking, it's more suited to his experiments. Just an issue of finding the thing and bringing it with me, without getting bitten or getting shot by his.. handler? Companion?

Should be fun.


	30. Chapter 30

**Apologies for this being so late and unbetad. I've been having difficulties getting onto this site to upload files. And its also been hard trying to find a time both me and my beta are awake and able to communicate. XD timezones. So apologies for any mistakes in this chapter. The next one will be mainly Mycroft and Lock.**

* * *

**JOHN**

I left Lock to his own devices, which probably wasn't a great idea, and headed back to the living room. I was pretty confident in my choice, it made the most sense and I'm sure they will all agree with me. Well most of them. It's how Lock will take things when he meets them, that's what I'm worried about. And how will Mycroft react to my zombie mate? They already seem to have their minds made up about him..

"Ah John. Welcome back. We were just wondering if it was possible for you to try and...convince 'Lock' to let us see him?"

"Actually, I have done just that. Though not all of you at once. Just one for now. Is that alright?"

Mycroft nodded. "Sounds quite reasonable. May I go first?" I got the feeling that this wasn't a request.

"Of course, follow me. See you all later."

I left them to entertain themselves and wonder, and headed back to the bathroom. I paused in front of the door. I ought to warn Mycroft that it was perfectly possible that Lock would completely ignore him. And for him to also be careful of what he said. Lock could quite easily get the wrong idea about something, or simply just not understand. He was quite intelligent but could be incredibly dense. Maybe I wasn't giving Mycroft enough credit, he is Lock's brother after all. He has known him far longer than I, though I am sure the Lock I know, is different from the Sherlock he knew.

"He's in a mood right now so...good luck." I considered for a moment going in to explain things to my grumpy zombie friend but Mycroft had already pushed past me with a nod and closed the door behind him. Well then, arrogant much?

Good luck Lock...

* * *

**LOCK**

When the door creaked open I was surprised. I knew John would return, but so soon? Had he not been able to convince them that meeting a sulking zombie, one person at time, was a good idea? I could see their point, they believed I was less likely to eat a person if there was more than one. Wrong! It had never stopped me before. But it would be bad form for me to make a meal out of John's friends. I'd already done that, I don't need more reasons for him to hate me. So I saw no reason to look up when the door closed behind the rooms new occupant. But when the footsteps on the tiles were not those of John's sensible shoes, but those of expensive loafers, I turned.

The owner of the shoes was tall, taller than me by at least an inch. He wasn't dressed for an apocalyptic warzone like his men. But he wore his suit like it were armour. The fabric perfect, without wrinkles or tears, and no doubt as pristine as it had been the day he brought it. His hair was a dark auburn. Since I was unable to read his expression, I frowned and returned to my sulk. The man said nothing, no doubt studying me as I had him. It was the strangest thing but when I had looked at him, one word had popped into my head.

Fat.

Which made little sense as the man was no such thing.

"Have you turned your head because you are afraid of me? Or perhaps you hope that by ignoring me, I will simply leave. I suspect it is far more likely that you are sulking or a mix of all three. I must assure you that I will not leave and that you have no reason to fear me." His pompous voice got on my nerves.

I could hear him shuffling about as he searched for somewhere to sit, settling for the floor. The sounds of his obvious dismay and discomfort pleased me greatly. I hope he tears the rear of his suit pants.

"How long can you keep this up? I will stay here all night if I have to. All I wish is to see you and speak with you."

You are seeing and talking to me. I'm just not replying. Though I suspect that if I do nothing, I may be at risk of a scolding from John. He has not been happy about my behaviour since the incident with the Car. Which must never be spoken of again. And I had agreed to see his friends. I could have refused, I should have. And if I do nothing now and this man leaves and tells John, these "people" may stay here even longer than necessary.

Fine. Have it your way. I'll talk to you, as little as possible and then I expect you to leave. I turned onto my back and sat so that my head rested against the tiled wall.

"Have we finished sulking then?"

"Yes." I muttered under my breath, still refusing to look at him. I could taste the smug satisfaction.

"Marvellous. Now if you could turn so I could have a proper look at you?" I obeyed, glaring as strongly as possible. If looks could burn, this man would now be ash. Grimm moved from his previous spot to my left cheek. I stroked his short, bristly fur-like body. I hope this man is afraid of spiders. The man stood, wincing, his back seemed to be causing him pain. Good. He moved to kneel by the edge of the bath and cupped my chin in his manicured hand. I don't know what he was looking for. At first his eyes were soft, saddened by what he saw, but by the end of his examination it had been replaced by another unreadable expression. I didn't like not being able to know what this man was thinking.

"Well you seem to be in a good condition for one of the undead. Few small cuts, no doubt you have more wounds beneath your clothes. Good. Very good, in fact. Now you have questions. Ask them." Nosey busy-body.

Questions hmm? Well I suppose one was fairly obvious.

"Who...are you?" I saw his eyebrows raise for a fraction of a second when he heard me speak for the first time. He hid his surprise well.

"My name is Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes. I am your brother."


	31. Chapter 31

**This ones a little longer, hope thats ok. Apologies for any missing a's or double aa's. My keyboard either doesn't registered it, or registers it too much.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

...What?! No, what? I have a brother? How could I have a brother? The photo of myself as a child and the older boy slipped into my mind and I removed the item from my coat pocket. The other boy had the same eyes and hair colour as the man before him, as well as the errent curl. I wondered if there was a part of him that wasn't as uptight as he seemed, and it expressed itself through that curl. I couldn't be sure, but the man did indeed resemble the boy in the photo. If the little boy with the dark curls is me, then this man is telling the truth.

"May I?"

He...no what was the name? Mycroft? What sort of a name is Mycroft? Who looks at a newborn child and dubs them such a ridiculous name? Our parents apparently. I handed the photo to him and watched as a fond smile made it's way past his emotional barrier. The photo was familiar to him. I could tell by the way his finger absentmindedly stroked the paper and by the almost far-away look in his eyes.

"We were going to a wedding that day, Mummy wanted you to leave the dog at home but you insisted. She always did spoil you. Her little angel. Pity you didn't act like one." Mycroft smirked, his mouth falling at my look of confusion. "You used to smile so much and then one day you just stopped. I.." He seemed surprised to have uttered that last sentence. As if it was a thought he didn't mean to utter. I stopped smiling? I wonder why.. something must have happened. It's not really important now I suppose. He handed the photo back to me. I think he expects me to say something. What am I supposed to say in this situation?

"S-sorry I don't..." Damn word, I can never say it properly. "Memory...I don't...memory." I don't remember. Say it with me, mouth. Come on!..Bloody piece of flesh. Good for nothing except stuttering and the occasional meal. Mycroft looks like he's in pain. Why? Was it something I said? Or... how I said it...

"It's alright, I don't expect you to. The very fact you have evolved so much is nothing but a miracle. It's supposed to be impossible." Supposed to. Supposed to's are made to be thrown away and ignored. Rules don't apply to the dead.

"Why.. here?" Why ARE YOU here. For the love of Poe!

"To find you, of course. Lestrade told me he had seen you, so I made a decision to come and find you." I sensed he had more to say, but he kept it to himself.

"Lest-rade?" No, I'm pretty sure thats not how you say it. Why couldn't these people have nice, easy and normal names like John. John. It just rolls off the tongue.

"He's not important right now. You'll meet him later. I came to bring you home."

"I am home." Wow, that sentence was almost perfect.

"No, dear brother. To the compound. We can examine you, hopefully find a cure. We can help you."

Examine? I was stuck on that word. I didn't hear the rest. ...They examine me? Run tests, experiement? I'd be like a lab rat, a guinea pig...no I don't want that. I want to stay here! But.. John would be going to the compound.. No I am not a thing to be used. I highly doubt these people, so called doctors or scientists would not consider me sentient. Just because I can't physically feel pain, doesn't mean things don't hurt. I shook my head.

"Lock.."

"No."

"They'd be helping you."

"I'm fine."

"Lock.." He was beginning to sound annoyed. Two can play at that game. And one can win.

"No! I stay here!"

"You have to come with me! I.. can make you come whether you like it or not." It was the look of regret that told me he was certain he could, but felt would feel guilt if he was forced to use it. No one makes me do things I don't want to do. Except maybe John. I stood, letting a low growl rumble deep in my throat. Mycroft took a step back but maintained his composure.

"NO! PISS OFF!" He tried to get me to lower my voice. Fat chance. Ha, fat. Seeing it now.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, I ORDER YOU TO STOP!"

Sherlock Holmes...

Was that my name?

I did stop, I leaned against the wall and stared. My name. I had a name. A real name. Though, I think I prefer Lock. But a name...this answered so many questions. So many...I didn't even hear the door open, or the exchanges between John or Mycroft. I didn't even realise John was there until he was in the bath with me and his hands were on either side of my face.

"Lock?" The voice was gentle, it washed over me, into every crevice. "Mate, you alright?"

"Name.."

"Sorry?"

"I have.. a name..." I could sense him smiling.

"You always had a name, Lock. Now you have two."

"I do?"

"Yes, most people have more than one name. Now what was all that fuss about?" The anger returned and I tried to take a step towards my "brother". John held me back, he had no fear, despite the fact that he was restraining a zombie.

"He...wants to take..he..people expery...peri-men..." Argh! "Ex-pery-men on me! No!" Not perfect but it will do. John turned and shot Mycroft a glare of his own.

"I won't let him. I told you, you don't have to go with them."

But his people will take me against my will, John! I will have no choice! No freedom. Nothing.

You won't be able to help me, John.

* * *

**JOHN**

I've never heard him yell like that before. His voice was not only full of anger, but I could sense fear. I assured the others I would deal with him and to stay where they were, and then rushed to the bathroom. Lock was against the wall, shaking with fury. Literally shaking. Of all the emotions that he was learning to express, why this one? Mycroft shouted his name and I could see the change in my friend almost immediately. It was shock and confusion. His hands went limp and he just stood there, staring at nothing. Brain overload. I stepped over the edge of the bath and stood in front of him. I pressed my hands on both cheeks and forced him to look at me.

"Lock?" He didn't seem to hear me. "Mate, you alright?"

"Name.."

"Sorry?"

"I have.. a name..." I smiled.

"You always had a name, Lock. Now you have two."

"I do?" Oh, that look was so innocent mate, it's not decent for you too look so young and vulnerable. You're dead.

"Yes, most people have more than one name. Now what was all that fuss about?" The anger returned and it took all my strength to keep him in place.

"He...wants to take..he..people expery...peri-men..."He growled in frustration. "Ex-pery-men on me! No!" I glared at Mycroft who responded in kind.

"I won't let him. I told you, you don't have to go with them."

Lock didn't seem to believe me. He shut his eyes and muttered to himself. _Don't go. Don't wanna go. _I wanted to punch his brother for provoking such a reaction, but I could understand his reasoning. But Lock could not, would not understand. He was certain that going to the compound would mean imprisonment and experimentation. And he's probably right. Even if it could help him. I tried to stop him pulling at his hair, taking his hands into my own.

"You don't have to go. And even if you did, I would go with you. I would stay with you, Lock." I'd try to protect you.

"No, no, no."

"Look you don't have to make a decision now. Just think about it. They could make you better, Lock."

"I'm fine."

"You're dead, mate."

"I'm dead fine." Was that a joke?

I gestured for Mycroft to leave, he did so regretfully. I made Lock sit back down in his 'bed' and tried to keep him calm. Times like this I wish he could sleep. It would do him so much good. The door opened again and I see Lock's bag pushed through the doorway. Mycroft knew, how did he know I wanted to fetch it? I left Lock alone for one minute and opened the bag. I took out a spare blanket and Bluebell. I gave him the rabbit and draped the blanket over his head and shoulders. The distraction worked. He held Bluebell and pulled the blanket further down his face so he couldn't see me.

He was shutting me out. No mate, you don't get to do that.

"Please..need space..." Ah, alright, but just for a moment.

"Call if you need me, I'll just be in the kitchen, ok?" The blanket nodded.

I left him to his thoughts and decided to express mine with a certain government official.


	32. Chapter 32

**I just saw Warm Bodies again! It was at the Astor cinema in a double feature. I think I converted everyone who saw it with me. Woo~**

**Enjoy this chappie. Next one will have some humour in it. And other things.**

**Like nipples.**

**Heehee.**

**ALSO SOMEONE DREW ME A THING! It's Lock with the tesco bag full of tea! You can find it on tumblr in this story's tag but sbfhdjbgjhsbghjdfbghjdfbgdf**

* * *

**JOHN**

If I had to pick one word that described how I felt right now, it would probably be fuming. I was pissed off, ready for a fight, ready to knock some sense into that rich, suited arse. I chose him first because I thought he could explain things to Lock, all those things he's wondered about, the things he was desperate to know. But Mycroft only made things worse. He angered my friend, and as a zombie, that's really not a smart idea. He also revealed his full name, which had put Lock into some form of shock. Yes it would be great if Lock came with us and we could help him. However, I can understand his reluctance and why he may be frightened. Mycroft did not have to threaten his brother the way he did. Maybe that used to work, maybe it never worked. But it was unnecessary in this case.

I found Sir Fancy Pants in the living room, pacing. Lestrade and the others watched him, waiting for an answer about what had transpired. I had the sudden desire to grab the man by his collar and throw him against the wall. To make him feel the fear Lock had felt. The raw terror. I took a deep breath and released it. Mycroft turned and found himself a seat. He placed his hands in a steeple that rested against his lips. Why do I feel like I'm the one in trouble? He has no right to make me feel that way.

"You had no right to threaten him! I could have convinced him to come!" Well possibly.

"It was necessary."

"It bloody well was not! What right do you have swanning on in here, yelling at him and scaring him like that?!"

"He is my brother, you would do well to remember that." Sodding piece of...

"That means nothing here or to him. He doesn't know you. Don't you understand? He thinks you want your people to experiment on him. He doesn't understand things as well as he once did." I assume he did once. Maybe.

Mycroft said nothing. So I continued my rant, I was just getting started.

"Think of him as a child, Mycroft. His emotions are new, zombies don't generally have them. Lock does, but he is unfamiliar with them. Anger, fear, sadness. These are new to him. Three negative emotions, and you made him feel all of them. Well done."

"Lock, is not a child, Doctor Watson."

"Maybe not in a literal sense. But Lock gets confused when I'm angry, like it's his fault. He worries if I'm not in his line of vision. He's naive. He's only just re-learned how to draw. He has a stuffed animal named Bluebell. Lock maybe an adult by human standards, but he's been in this state for what, five years? Sherlock Holmes may be in his thirties. Lock is five. He's ignorant and incredibly intelligent at the same time. What you did, was wrong. Intimidation only angers and frightens him. He hates being pushed around, but he does not understand why your anger was directed at him."

"Stop thinking about him in human terms. The dead, the walking dead, their minds follow different rules. It's time you realised that. Sherlock Holmes is dead. He might come back one day, who knows. But Lock, Lock is 'alive'." Technically he's not. But he walks, talks, has feelings. Thats enough to qualify as alive, isn't it?

* * *

**MYCROFT**

I did not need to be lectured on my behaviour towards my brother. It had been necessary. He needed to understand that such insubordination was not tolerated. My only desire is to help him. Trying to scare me away will only lead to failure. However, Doctor Watson did have a point. Lock is not the same as Sherlock. Perhaps I should have realised that sooner. I was blinded by the belief that he may still be in there. He might be. It is possible. But right now he is not. Lock needn't fear the compound. We would not strap him down and experiment on him as he fears. Unless we had no choice. Unless he made things difficult for us. But we would be helping find a cure. Does Lock not wish to become human again?

If he does not feel pain, what is there to fear?

* * *

A child, yes he is that. Always was. Isn't everybody? Most of us keep our inner child inside, hidden and in chains. Sherlock was young, full of fire and excitement. Always bounding off to the next adventure, the next mystery. Lock is the same in a way. But where as Sherlock was loud, Lock is quiet. Sherlock had an extensive vocabulary, Lock has trouble with the simplest word. Sherlock kept his emotions under tight wraps and Lock wears them on his sleeve. They are two different people, in the same body. One day I hope they merge and the brother I lost will be returned to me. But I may have to face the facts. He may come back changed.

"Perhaps.. you are right." John's eyes grew wide, this was clearly not the reaction he was expecting.

"W-what?"

"You are right. Do not make me repeat it again." I do not admit such things often. "Lock is a child, in many ways. A human adult and a zombie child. But I only wish to help him. Is there not some way we can convince him to return with us? Think of the progress we could make." A cure now seems possible, if Lock is capable of evolving. We simply must discover how it is possible.

"Maybe. But not tonight. He's been through a shock. You told him his name, you threatened him. He needs space. You lot can make yourselves comfortable around the flat. Theres food in my pack if you need it. I'm going to make myself some tea and kip in the bathroom tonight." That is reasonable I suppose. I could stand to sleep on the couch for one more night. Doctor Watson may borrow my sleeping bag.

"Very well. We will continue this discussion tomorrow."

* * *

**JOHN**

After thanking Mycroft for the use of his sleeping bag and savouring a nice warm cup of tea, I hesitantly opened the bathroom door, closing it behind me. Lock was curled in the bathtub, the blanket covering his entire body. I swept away the dirt and dust with my hands, wiping the mess on my pants. After placing the pillow and sleeping bag in position, I crept towards the tub. I knew he wasn't asleep, he doesn't sleep. But he might still be in shock. He'll think himself silly and into all sorts of trouble if I don't stop him.

"Lock? Mate, it's me. You alright." I received a muffled answer in reply. I lifted the edge of the blanket and saw two pale eyes staring back at me.

"What?"

"Confused."

"It's alright to be confused mate." He shook his head. Lock likes answers. Figuring them out is a source of fun, but not when its also a source of worry.

"Don't think about it. Think about something else." Wish you could read mate, that might have taken your mind off things.

"Can't."

"Yes you can. Look I'm staying here with you tonight. We'll talk about things tomorrow. Is that alright?" A shrug. Very helpful.

"Fine." I let the blanket drop again so I could change into my pyjamas. Looks like it's going to be a a long night.


	33. Chapter 33

**Sorry it took so long. I've had writer's block, a few birthdays (one of them my own, ... I kinda missed it, I slept through most of it .) and finished the Cornetto Trilogy. My hands have been bad and right now they are very itchy so Im sorry if theres any mistakes. The 'A' key is still broken too btw. Hope this is ok!**

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

He didn't have stay here. Even if one of the intruders has taken his bed, he could take the stuff off mine. Or there was the flat below mine. There was also nothing stopping him from sleeping in any other room in this flat. So why this one? I lifted the edges of the blanket, John was changing. He removed his top with ease, the scar standing out amongst once tanned skin. It was like an unfurling flower. None of my scars held such beauty. Maybe it was a human thing. He pulled a grey shirt over his chest and stood to remove his trousers. He...he has red pants. Very red pants. And a nice bum.

Oh God, I didn't just think that did I? It was just a general appreciation of his body. That's all. It's a nice body, nothing wrong with it. Not like mine. Long gangly limbs, skinny torso. I don't have much meat on me at all. And the less said about my face the better. But John...no, stop thinking about this. It's absurd. Think about something else. Science, mathematics, etymology, history, anything! Before I pulled the blanket over my face again, I stole one last glance at John. He's wearing my pyjama pants which are still too long for his short legs. At least they fit him.

He's about to turn around so I quickly let the fabric fall and curl back on my side, so I'm facing John's side of the room. I can hear him scuffling around the room, brushing his teeth, relieving himself, adjusting his 'bed'. And then he turns off the light and slips into the sleeping bag.

"Lock?"

I briefly consider not replying. "Yes."

"Everything will be ok, I promise."

"Fine." If you say so, John.

"I have this idea, I'll share it with you in the morning. You don't have to go with them, just remember that." That is tremendously easy for you to say. I feel this Mycroft controls more power than you.

"Ok."

"Night, Lock."

"G-good night, John."

* * *

I wisely spent the night worrying and plotting my escape.

* * *

**JOHN**

I woke up to the sound of footsteps outside my door. Sleeping in a bathroom was really a stupid idea, but at least there was more than one toilet in the flat. The last thing I needed was people barging in through out the night. Thankfully that didn't happen. I had a good nights sleep. The room was still dark, but I could hear Lock moving around, either out of boredom, restlessness or trying to untangle himself from his blanket. It turned out to be the latter. When he finally managed to stand, still with the blanket over his head, he tripped over the edge of the tub. Fortunately for him I could see this was going to happen, catching him before he did any damage to his cold, dead but impossible, brain.

I received no thanks, only a glare when he finally wrenched the dreaded fabric from his head. I could make out his hair standing on end, going every which way was an amusing sight. I tried to hide my grin, but his quick eyes saw everything and he turned his back to me so he could sulk. I threw the blanket back over his head, ignoring the angry groan and went to turn on the light, my eyes had adjusted already to the darkness, so I spent the next few minutes squinting and blinking.

Lock finally managed to remove the blanket again and pouted. That was a new one. Usually he just made puppy dog eyes in my direction until I relented. I wonder if he knows he's pouting or it's an unconscious expression. One step closer to a smile, mate.

"Now, none of that nonsense. I'm going to get some tea, you can stay here, or come with me." Despite his earlier refusal to leave the bathroom, he stumbled after me, blanket around his shoulders like some cartoon Indian Chief. Maybe he thought everyone would be gone, or maybe he was just that bored. Luckily for Lock, everyone was still asleep when we entered the kitchen. I know it won't last, the minute the tea is ready, and it's smell enters their noses, they'll be in here in a flash. Unless any of them prefer coffee. If so they are out of luck.

Lock perches on one of the chairs, still wrapped in his blanket, despite his hatred of it moments before. Perhaps its a security blanket. It's not as if he's cold. Zombies don't feel the temperature. Good for them, it's fucking freezing. I had my jacket on already and was seriously considering going back for the sleeping bag. While I brewed several cups of tea, Lock played with the utensils on the table. He quickly got bored and started scrunching up paper into balls and throwing them at my back. In retaliation I unfolded one and re folded it into a paper plane. I shouldn't have, Lock began to hassle me to teach him, meanwhile the tea was ready.

"Not now, later, Lock."

"No, teach now. Must learn." Later. Let me enjoy this please, mate.

"Later I promise."

"Better."

He returned to his paper balls, probably considering throwing them at the intruders in his house. He'd only just realised they were still here. All strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. Lestrade was half on, half off one of the arm chairs. His mouth wide open, a little bit of drool was trickling down his chin. Mycroft was asleep on the couch, his body far too tall for it. His legs hung off the edge in a comical fashion. The rest were on the floor. Except the women, but I suspect they were asleep in my room.

"Bored."

"Be quiet, Lock. You don't want to wake them do you?" He gave me another glare which made me chuckle.

He definitely didn't.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

They weren't so intimidating while asleep. I knew they wouldn't be, that didn't mean I would trust them. Especially not Mycroft. But my curiosity could no longer be contained. I had to know who they were, what they did, what sort of people they were. But I could only observe so much from sleeping bodies so I turned my mind to other matters. Like staving off boredom.

John didn't appreciate my paper balls. I wasn't trying to annoy him, well maybe a little. But the paper creation that spawned from his hands, it flew! But it was paper. How did he do that? He had to show me.

"Teach, teach!" Sometimes, well most of the time, when I was excited about something, what little grammar I had was thrown out the window.

"Not now, later, Lock." Later is not what I want.

"No, teach now. Must learn." You aren't doing anything.

"Later I promise."

"Better." I'll hold you to that promise.

I let him return to his tea, which was far more interesting than flying paper. I returned to screwing up paper into balls and throwing them around the room. I half considered throwing them at the living room's sleeping occupants. But John stopped me with a look. Plus, it might wake Mycroft. However entertaining and satisfactory it would be to throw things at his head, I don't want to risk waking him.

"Bored."

"Be quiet, Lock. You don't want to wake them do you?" No, but maybe they are deep sleepers.

John chuckled and I pouted, glaring a whole into his teacup. It didn't explode like I wanted it too. Tea, tea, tea. Thats all John thinks about. How did he survive so long without it? Now he couldn't get enough of it. I'm not going back to find him more. John grins over his cup and I respond by storming out of the room in a huff. That would teach him. Besides theres only so much one could do while waiting for idiots to wake up.


	34. Chapter 34

**LOOK A LONG CHAPTER, OMG!**

**YAY.**

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I headed to my room. Perhaps something in there can cure my boredom. I had been pleased to discover no one had decided to use it except, to my utter disgust, Gladstone. The foul animal sat amongst the boxes and assorted items as if he owned the place. I had half a mind to throw him out the window. He'd land on his feet, surely. The other half bemoaned this idea, John would be angry and we mustn't make him angry. I'd heard him yelling at Mycroft, he had quite the temper. But why did it bother him so much? It hadn't been directed at him.

Most peculiar.

Ignoring Gladstone's protests I lifted him by the scruff of his neck and deposited him on the floor. This did not deter him. He jumped back onto the bed and looked at me, as if he were daring me. _Come on then, just try and stop me. _The game is on. I picked him up again, dropped him outside the door and was about to close it when he raced back into the room and hid under the bed. I growled in frustration, the beast replied with a chirp. He's laughing at me, I swear it. I dropped to the floor and tried to reach under the bed, receiving three new claw marks along my arm for my troubles. John won't be pleased. He insists on stitching and at the very least examining any and all new wounds I sustain. Ridiculous really. Zombies don't bleed, we don't get infections, the wounds don't hurt us. But John is a doctor. He is probably unable to help himself.

Gladstone purred contently. I would have to find a way to lure out the creature. I'll give him to John and let him deal with it.

* * *

**JOHN**

It didn't take long for people to wake after Lock had left. He timed it perfectly. The tea was well appreciated by all. Though I made Mycroft get up to fetch his own. The room was silent as everyone calmly drank from assorted cups and mugs. Lock does not seem to own enough teacups. He has two, plus a bright yellow mug with a smiley face, a blue mug shaped like a dalek that looked unused and a set of five ramekins in rainbow colours. No one seemed to mind though. I gave Mycroft the one with the smiley face, the look he gave it was reward enough.

"Thanks mate." I smiled back at Lestrade as he handed me a blue ramekin. "Don't suppose you have any food?"

Grinning I opened my backpack and pulled out a box of dry biscuits and handed them to Greg with a a jar of strawberry jam. I wish I had some proper breakfast foods, but I'll have to wait until I return home to the compound. But Greg seemed happy enough, passing them around to everyone, who had already eaten most of their own food supplies. As I took the used cups, mugs and ramekins back into the kitchen, I could hear the distinct sound of a cat's howling cry. A very angry cat. I apologised to everyone and left the room, following the cat's cry. They led straight to Lock's bedroom. Wondering what I would find and hoping Lock hadn't hurt Gladstone, I pushed open the door.

* * *

The cat was on his head.

To be specific, one paw was clawing at his ear, another had it's claws hooked into his nose, pulling it upwards. A third was covering his eye, I was unable to see the fourth. Lock was trying in vain to remove Gladstone. Muttering curses and stumbling over his insults in his anger. One arm was flailing, the other held a scrap of Gladstone's fur in his hands. I have no idea what started this fight, but it was clear that it was going to be up to me to end it.

"Alright, calm down you too." Lock gave me a look of pure fury, I ignored it.

I motioned for Lock to bend over, he's ridiculously tall. He didn't obey me immediately, but Gladstone's claws started to dig in dangerously close to his eye, leaving him little choice but to lean down far enough for me to pry the cat's paws, and claws, from his head. It wasn't easy, I received few small scratches of my own before I managed to remove cat from zombie and deposit cat in an empty room for time out. Now I had to take the zombie to the kitchen and examine his wounds. All three of us were now in bad moods.

I pushed Lock in front of me in case he decided to misbehave and run back to the bathroom. I needed to check his wounds since they don't heel. If they were too deep they would need to be stitched up. He maintained that he was completely fine and I was over-reacting, though not so eloquently. I ignored it. After pulling out a chair and practically forcing him into it, I rummaged in my pack until I found the first aid kit. I didn't realise we were being watched until I noticed that Lock was unusually quiet. Even though he felt no pain, he was a stubborn little git who felt the need to complain or fidget nonstop. Instead he was staring at the floor.

I looked up to find everyone watching us. "Can I help you?" I asked with a frown. Lestrade and Mycroft looked away. Anderson and Donovan found the wallpaper fascinating. Only Miss Hooper met my eyes with a smile. She wandered over till she was standing opposite me by Lock's chair. She watched me slowly stitch up Lock's second head wound. Lock began to open and close his hands.

"Is he alright?"

I grinned." He just lost a fight with a ferocious feline."

Molly giggled and I was sure I heard Lock mutter _didn't lose_. I ruffled his hair and put everything back in my kit.

"He doesn't feel pain. He just finds it annoying." Molly nodded.

Lock's feet began to tap the floor and I could tell by the position of the lower half of his body that he was preparing an escape. I placed a hand on his shoulder and shook my head. As much as I knew Lock did not want to meet everyone else after the fiasco with Mycroft, it was important that he realise they wanted to help him. And not all of them were like his big brother. I was hoping they might convince Mycroft to not go through with his plan after they met him.

At least that is what I'm hoping for.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I don't like cats.

I don't like cats.

I don't like cats.

Especially ones named Gladstone.

GET IT OFF!

JOHN, JOHN GET IT OFF ME!

It's a monster, John!

"JOHN!"

"ME-ROW!"

"Alright, calm down you too." I am calm!

Not the eye, not the eye! Blasted animal.

John managed to remove the creature from my scalp and locked him in another room. Finally. Now I could lie on my bed and mope like I had planned. John grabbed my coat collar and pushed me in front of him. No John, this is not necessary. I am fine now, no, let me go!

"John, I'm.. fine. Stop this immed...now!"

He pushed me into a chair and started examining my head and face. This is pointless, I don't bleed and my wound's will not get infected. I considered making things difficult for him, so he would sigh and leave me alone. Not permanently. However I noticed that we were being watched. Wonderful. Do not make eye contact. I couldn't draw attention to myself.

"Can I help you?" I almost answered, until I realised John was challenging our 'guests'. Thank you John.

"Is he alright?" A quiet, but concerned voice answered my doctor.

"He just lost a fight with a ferocious feline."

"Didn't lose." I muttered under my breath. It was important they both receive all the facts.

The girl...I don't know her name, giggled. No one had introduced themselves, how rude.

"He doesn't feel pain. He just finds it annoying." Well it is annoying. It's inconvenient.

* * *

I could hear the sound of John putting his equipment away and prepared to escape as soon as he was distracted. I didn't want to stay here any longer than necessary. But John's hand wouldn't leave my shoulder. John, I can't stay here, let me go, I'll behave I promise. But John just shook his head and smiled. I don't like where this is going. You promised me, John. You promised you wouldn't make me go with them. I tried to stand but John sat me back down and told me too relax. I can't relax! Mycroft might decide to remove me from this place at any moment. Do not give him an opening. He's not to be trusted.

* * *

**MOLLY**

Poor Sherlock, if I didn't know any better I might think he was frightened. I was surprised when Doctor Watson brought him into the kitchen to treat him. I hadn't expected such a quiet zombie, despite John's outburst last night. Perhaps he is just not used to a room full of humans. Humans hunt his kind, it's understandable he'd be wary of us. Though it should be the other way around. But he's quiet adorable with those big wide, almost sorrowful eyes and when Watson ruffles his hair, the curls dancing. He even pouted when Watson mentioned a fight with a cat.

"I'm glad he doesn't feel pain. I can imagine that the undead get themselves into a lot of hot water."

Sherlock... I mean Lock. I suppose I must call him that now. Lock tilted his head and made a face. I don't think he understood that term. How strange, I'm so used to him knowing everything. Though he was spectacularly ignorant about some things. Though I always suspected that sometimes he did understand but would rather not admit that he did. He had a reputation to maintain.

"Lock especially. It's his forte." Lock crossed his arms, I recognised the symptoms of a sulk. John mentioned he was new to emotions, since zombies weren't supposed to have any. He seems quite adept a this one.

"I don't think he's very happy right now, must he stay here?" Doctor Watson nodded and drew me to one side, away from eavesdropping zombies.

"I need for everyone to see he's not a threat and that you guys can't make him do something he doesn't want too."

"Even if it will help him and others?"

"Yes. He doesn't want to and he has good reasons. Maybe he might change his mind one day. But I can tell the idea of going to this place frightens him. He's prone to fear."

"Probably because he has something in his life that he's never had before, and doesn't want to lose it."

Sherlock is not the only one with deduction skills. I hit the nail on the head if the look on John's face was anything to go by. He nodded and stepped back, Lock was watching us and it was clear he had heard every word.

* * *

"I'm sure you three are having a lovely conversation in there, but don't you think you ought to introduce the others to my brother? After all, nows as good a time as any."

Sometimes Mycroft Holmes can be very rude and you want to slap that smug look off his face.


	35. Chapter 35

**Not perfect, A key still not working, not beta'd etc. Hopefully more Lock and Lestrade in the next chapter. And what's happened to Moran?**

* * *

**JOHN**

For the love of- Is it possible to want to agree with someone but also want to break their nose? Because that is how I feel right now. It's not as if he doesn't deserve it. It would actually do him some good. I look over at Lock, he's not exactly enthusiastic about the whole idea. But he loves facts, he's probably been annoyed that he knows no ones name other than his brother's. If he even thinks of him as his brother. But as much as it pains me to say it, Mycroft is right, Lock needs to meet everyone and they need to meet him.

"Lock?" I left Molly and knelt beside Lock's chair.

"John...?"

"Is this alright with you?" Lock shrugged, clearly either not caring, or he felt as if he had no choice.

I patted his shoulder. He was still quiet and submissive, like he was afraid to be himself. He shouldn't be, if these people tried to hurt him, they'd have to go through me first. Ok, how to do this? Keep it simple. I can do that.

"Well you already know Mycroft." I heard Lock murmur the word fat in my ear.

"Lock..." I couldn't help grinning.

"Well..he is."

"I think my ears are burning." Mycroft commented from cross the room. How did he even hear us?

"His ears...on f-fire?" Lock seemed too pleased at the idea.

"No, um, it's an expression, Lock." A disappointed look crossed his face.

"Pity."

"_Any_way, that's Mycroft, this is Greg Lestrade." Greg coughed and smiled, giving a little wave.

"The people behind him are Sally Donovan and, uh, Marion Anderson."

"Ma..rion?"

"What of it?!" I waved a hand at Anderson to tell him to calm down. But I still heard him utter the word _freak_, causing Sally to elbow him in the side. Lock's face drooped.

"Uh and this is Molly Hooper." I gestured to the young woman beside me who smiled and waved enthusiastically.

Lock looked back at me, his eyes speaking volumes. _Get me out of here. This was unnecessary. I'm bored. _Didn't he understand the importance of everyone meeting each other? Probably not.

"Lock, you...you knew every one of these people when you were alive." There, I said it.

I watched Lock's eyes grow wide in astonishment. He stared at them, then at me. _You can't be serious,_ his eyes said. _That's impossible. _Greg placed his hands in front of his chest, in a gesture of good faith. Lock wouldn't meet his eyes, but stared at his hands as Greg made his way through the maze of junk that covered the floor. He stopped in front of Lock's chair and pulled another one out from beneath the table. Lock's arms, still folded cross his chest, tightened.

"Hey, mate. It's nice to meet you."

Lestrade, I bloody love you. He was talking to Lock, not as someone he once knew, but as someone he had never met before. He was treating Lock as if he was his own person. Which he was, but it was a concept that the other's hadn't grasped yet. Lock didn't respond, but nor did he glare at the ex DI. I don't think he appreciated everyone staring at him. I can't blame him, but nor could I stop them. Greg met my eyes and I shrugged. I couldn't force Lock to respond.

"Well I tried. Can't say I'm not used to the silent treatment from him." Greg took me aside, Molly moving to stand beside him and chatter in his ears. "Maybe this is too confronting for him. Let him go somewhere private and we'll come to him."

"No offence, but we tried that."

"You tried by starting with Mycroft. Bad idea, he's desperate to take Lock back and help him. He means well but his ways of 'caring' aren't going to be understood by She-..Lock." Lestrade had a point. If Molly and Lestrade were to speak privately with Lock, they'd do a much better job of it, than Mycroft Holmes.

"In the end, it's up to Lock." Greg grinned.

"Then, we'll just have to ask him." I stole a glance at Lock, who's eyes were pleading with me to stop Molly talking.

"Good luck." You're going to need it.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

When can I leave? This is tedious and unsafe. You have no reason to keep me here, I've learnt my lesson, John. I promise to leave Gladstone alone if you let me go. John left the mousy girl and knelt beside my chair. What? What's that look for?

"Lock?" That's my name, yes.

"John...?"

"Is this alright with you?" Is what alright with me? Oh, the introductions? Of course! I'd already observed what I could about these people, but a name to put to the faces would not hurt.

"Well you already know Mycroft." _Dangerous,_ I categorised him.

"_Fat.._" I whispered.

"Lock..."

"Well..he is." John grinned and I wish I could join him.

"I think my ears are burning." Rude. Don't interrupt.

"His ears...on f-fire?" What a wonderful turn of events~

"No, um, it's an expression, Lock." Oh, damn.

"Pity."

"_Any_way, that's Mycroft, this is Greg Lestrade." A tall, peppery haired man waved from one of the arm chairs. _Safe._

"The people behind him are Sally Donovan and, uh, Marion Anderson." The two people he gestured at scowled at me. _Dangerous._

"Mee..rium?" You have to admit, it is a ridiculous name. Isn't that a girl's name?

"What of it?!" This Anderson fellow bellowed from the corner of the room. John tried to quieten him as the female elbowed him as the word _freak_ passed his lips. My face fell, my eyes dropping to the ground. I didn't need him to tell me that. Clearly I was a freak when I was alive as well. The word slipped from his tongue as if he used it regularly. John, I want to go now. I don't like it here. I wanted to be angry, but it wasn't in me today. Only pettiness.

"Uh and this is Molly Hooper." The woman from before smiled too brightly and waved. She seemed friendly enough. _Safe, probably harmless. _

I turned to look John in the eyes. _Get me out of here. This was unnecessary. I'm bored. _I know you understand my John, no matter how long we've known each other. But John didn't seem to understand. Or he chose to ignore me. He bit his lip and looked to the floor, then back up at me.

"Lock, you...you knew every one of these people when you were alive." What?

_You can't be serious, John. _I'd know if I knew these people. Wouldn't I? But then I didn't know about Mycroft. And he's my brother. None of them seem familiar. I have no memory of before I died. Still, to meet people from before that time, it is a lot to process. I'd learn more were they closer to me, but I didn't wish for that level of closeness yet. The silver haired man slowly walked towards myself and John, trying to seem as if he was not a threat. He pulled a chair out and sat in front of me.

"Hey, mate. It's nice to meet you." You already know me, stop pretending. Or...does he know the old me? Sherlock Holmes. I am Lock, the Sherlock half of me is no more. So, I am sorry, your greeting was correct. But that does not mean I will trust you.

"Well I tried. Can't say I'm not used to the silent treatment from him." I wish I could smile. He takes John to one side and I am unable to hear their conversation. The Hooper girl almost skips to my side and starts to babble. And doesn't stop. John, help me. She keeps talking and I can't understand her. It makes no sense. Make her stop, John.

"... Hope you don't mind if I look around, I've only explored the room I'm staying in. I suppose it's Doctor Watson's room really. Well not his room, but where he was sleeping before. That's why he went to sleep with you in the bathroom. It's a funny place to sleep, sort of adorable though I really I-.." John please make her stop.

"Then, we'll just have to ask him." Ask me what? I'll let you ask anything if it will make her stop.

"Good luck."

"Lock, let's start over, why don't you and me go and have a chat somewhere. Is that alright? Somewhere less...intimidating."

What are you implying?


	36. Chapter 36

**LESTRADE**

Five minutes later and he's swanning out of the room, the bloody coat of his fluttering. Might as well follow him. He made a detour at the bathroom to grab a bag and then headed to his bedroom. He pushed nearly everything off the bed and flopped on it with the bag. I shut the door behind us and sit on the edge of the bed. Lock glared at me as he rifled through his bag. He pulled out papers, photographs and drawings. And then went through some of the boxes as well. I didn't want to disturb him, he seemed very focused on whatever he was doing. Red ribbon flew over his head and onto the bed, followed by a box of push pins.

"Talk." Direct and to the point. Well some things never change.

Lock climbed back onto the bed and stood up, removing the small framed certificate the adorned the wall above his bed. He started to attach the photos and papers to the wall with the pins.

"What would you like me to talk about?"

"Don't.. c-care. Talk." _Give me something to work with here, sunshine_.

Lock sat back down and began to cut up the red ribbon.

"Ok. Well, um...how long have you been a...have you been de-...how you are?"

"What?" Don't give me that look! I was trying to be polite.

"How long have you been like this?" I gestured to all of him. This still seemed to confused him, until the eyes grew wide with some understanding.

"Five?" He nodded to himself. "Five...uh.. annual..." The word he wanted floated around, I knew he meant years. It hurt to see him unable to talk. He'd been bloody good at it, the sod.

"Five years...well...you must have been lonely." Except most zombies don't get lonely. I'm not even sure if Sherlock could even be lonely.

"Yes." He didn't look at me, but that quick answer saddened me. Sorry mate. We tried to get you out. Ill never forgive myself that you ended up like this. But then, you might never have met John.

"And, you don't remember anything?" Lock shook his head, his eyes never leaving to bed as he continued to cut the ribbon.

"Wait..."

"You do?"

"Word. One...-Lock." You remember the word Lock? Bit odd. But you are a bit odd mate. Always were.

"Lock. Is that all?" He looked up and stared at one of the windows.

"Man.. he...yelling." I frowned as he seemed to reprimand himself whenever he couldn't get his message across. "He y-yelled...Lock."

Lock.. Sherlock. Did he hear someone yell his name, but can only remember the last half? But when would he have heard it before he died? Unless...fuck. I screamed out his name, before the closed the doors to the hidden entrance of the wall. The wall of what is now the compound. Our safe haven. I remember us all running. Sally and Anderson, Mrs Hudson and Molly. And me and Sherlock. There were soldiers with us and bonies after us. Sherlock stopped to smash one over the head, it was too close to Mrs Hudson. He pushed her in front of him and I grabbed her arm. Everyone was telling him to hurry, because the doors were automated, they were closing. But he never got to us in time. I yelled out his name as he ran away, to find some other way in, to find safety? Now I know what happened after that. He must have run into some zombies. And...well the rest is right in front of me.

"Stop it."

"What?" Lock stared at me, clearly annoyed. I know that look.

"Thinking."

"Yes, problem?"

"Annoy..it bothers." Sorry, I can't help thinking, mate. Though I found myself smiling just a little. That was very Sherlock.

"What are you working on?"

He lifts a polaroid camera up to his face and takes a picture of me.

"A map."

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I had to make a map. Not one for finding your way from point A to point B. But a map of people, places and other relevant information. I began to pinning photos, papers and drawings to the wall. I took one of...George? Gabe? Gray. No..Greg! I'll just call him Lestrade, I can't be expected to remember everyone's first name, my brain is dead. I'm a high functioning corpse. No, that doesn't make sense.

I took Lestrade's photo and added it to the wall. I connected one end of a ribbon to him and the other to John. I'd met him through John. And then connected another piece of ribbon to him and the other end to a photo of me from before I died. I'd found it on the coffee table. Clearly belonging to Mycroft. I will have to take photos of the others. Now, how did I know Lestrade before I died. Old friend? Neighbour? Is he family? Anyone would be an improvement on the one member I have at the moment.

"You know..me. How?"

"Well, I don't know if I should tell you. I mean what if you remember? People say you should let people figure out these things for themselves."

"People... boring." I dismissed these "people" with a wave of my hand. I would like a proper answer please.

Lestrade chuckled. Why? "I suppose some are, yes. Well, you used to work with me. I was a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard."

Detective Inspector...what did that mean? Think, think! Detective Inspector, DI..Police! Oh I am stupid. Was I in the police force?

"Police?" I pointed to myself. He shook his head. Then how did I work with you?

"You consulted. You were a consulting detective. The only one in the world. You invented the job. Always had to be different."

Consulting Detective? What did that even mean? Only one in the world...oh thats rather good. But I need more data. I can't make bricks without clay. Or a mind map without facts.

"More."

"Well, if we needed help on something, that we hadn't been able to solve ourselves, we'd ask you."

"Why?" Surely police could solve such crimes themselves. Isn't that their job?

"Because you saw things. You observed. You would take in things that people hadn't noticed, or had noticed. And you would deduce."

Deduce. I like that. Perfect word. But what does it mean?! I don't understand!

"How? How?!" He shook his head sadly at me. I threw my hands around, frustrated.

"I can't tell you. The only person I know who can do what you do, is your own brother. You haven't...deduced since you've been like this have you?"

I might have, if I knew what you meant. Unless, my observations are unusual. Because I know things without knowing why. Is that what he means? Before I died, maybe I knew the why, the how, the what and when and where. I'm just missing the pieces. I'm a broken puzzle. I throw the box of pins at the wall, annoyed with myself. Lestrade picks them all up and closes the box. He keeps telling me things are ok.

Are they? Are they ok? Every time you look at me, you're sad. Why are you here if you aren't going to help me understand? You wanted to talk to me for a reason.

"I need...I need more."

"Alright, sunshine. You can ask me any question you want."

"Are you...friend?"

"Yes mate. I was your friend. Or I tried to be." I don't like that answer. Was I _your_ friend or were you mine? Did I have any friends? What sort of person was I? Was I a good or a bad person. I need these all answered!

This is going to take awhile.

I need more data.

And photos.

And John.


	37. Chapter 37

**This probably has a lot of spelling mistakes but Ill fix them tommorow. Its late but I wanted to post this before I went to bed.**

**Sorry we're still stuck at 221b. I'm trying to get them out soon!**

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

I left the room only briefly, to take more photos. Lestrade stayed in my room, I asked him to sort through some of the files in my boxes. He seemed happy enough to help. Perhaps I will ask him about them later. I took another photo of John, who stuck out his tongue. The Molly girl tried to hide her face, I don't know why. Eventually I managed to take a picture of her. Mycroft virtually scowled when I appeared beside him, the camera in his face. He looked hideous in it. Perfect. The last two, the idiots, protested the need for me to take pictures. Although the one with the big hair didn't seem to mind as much as the one with the silly name.

Satisfied with my photos, I ventured back into my room. Lestrade was sorting the files into two piles. I ignored him, pinning my new photos to the wall and trying to figure out how they all connected. I needed to ask more questions. Good. I like questions. Though I prefer answers. But since I have none, questions will have to suffice.

"Lest..Lestrade. Tell about...them." I pointed to the ones known as Anderson and Donavan.

"Well, they used to work for me. Still do in a way. Anderson was with forensics, he works in a science lab now up in Medical. Donavan was my sergeant. She's with Supply I think now. She bunks with Molly. Why?"

"Why... here? Why they... come?" I really need to work on my grammar. It sounds alright in my head and sometimes out loud. But it is easier however, to sometimes omit words, so that the flow is quicker, rather than disjointed. I still haven't quite got the hang of talking faster.

"Well they used to know you I guess. Besides, they said if I was going, they were coming with me. If you asking what are they to _you_, well I wouldn't say you were friends, but you weren't enemies. A mutual dislike I guess. But they wanted to come, which means I guess they cared about what happened to you."

So they hated me. Somehow that does not surprise me. I am getting the feeling I didn't have many friends prior to us parting ways. But I have one now, and that's all that matters for the moment. Whatever reason my former self had for not wanting friendship, has nothing to do with me. I am sure they were good reasons. I connected ribbons to both Anderson, Donavan and Lestrade. And then ribbons to myself. I wish I could make some marking that indicated how they connected. But this will have to do for now.

"Who...is M-Molly?" Who is she to me?

"A friend I suppose. She liked you. I think you liked her. She was a mortician. She still is, gets a bit of hate directed at her because of it now, but she doesn't let that get to her. She's changed a lot..." That last part is interesting, why has she changed? And a mortician? I suppose a zombie apocalypse would be immensely interesting to her. And I would be interesting to her as well. A living corpse. Well, sort of living. Why do people hate her?

"What?"

"Oh she's.. she used to be quite shy. She still is but she's grown a lot since the old days. Doesn't put up with anyone's shit if she can help it." He sounds proud. As if she were his daughter.

I connected Molly's ribbons to both him and me. I'd already connected Mycroft's ribbon, but added his new photo. I put Johns with the other photos on the wall. He now had four. I should find something to put these photos in once I no longer need the map. I sat back down and looked at the files. I wonder how he sorted them.

* * *

**LESTRADE**

I didn't know how he wanted them sorted, so when he left to take more photos, I decided I'd make a pile of case files, from Scotland Yard, and personal case files. The ones from people who contacted him. There weren't many. I made a third pile as well. Files relating to the undead. Some were case files, others were information Sherlock himself must have collected. I hope this helped him in some way.

When he returned, he pinned up his new photos and then began to ask questions. I answered as best as I could. He didn't seem very satisfied with the answers. Poor sod found it difficult to form sentences. Here was someone who used to rattle of deductions at high speed and use as many big words as possible. I wonder if he will progress more, or evolve as John calls it. I hope he does, even if he never regains his memories. Kid deserves more than this.

"Now, I hope I did alright. These files are cases we worked on together and a few cold cases you...borrowed from Scotland Yard. These are case files from people who came to you for help. And these, these are related to, well, your kind. Do you..uh..need me to read them to you?" Fuck, because he probably can't read can he?

He nodded, though he didn't seem happy about not being able to read them himself. After reading several files out to him, we decided on a quick system, I summarised what it said, and he either pinned them on the wall or threw them on the floor. The floor ended up looking like a sea of white paper and manilla folders. More of the zombie related ones went on the wall, than any others. And he finally ran out of red ribbon. I think this upset him as he dove through every box looking for more.

"Calm down mate, I'm sure we can find you more ribbon."

"Red! Red ribbon!"

"Yes, I'll make sure it's red. Why don't you wait here and I'll tell them. Alright?" He waved a hand, a familiar dismissal gesture.

I left him, glaring at the map, muttering why, why!? I don't know why he's upset. It's just a bit of ribbon.

* * *

John looked concerned when I entered the kitchen again.

"He ok?"

"That's debatable." I shrugged, sitting down in a vacant chair.

"What's happened?" John leaned back against the fridge, his arms crossed.

"He ran out of ribbon."

"He ran out of ribbon? Why would a zombie care about ribbon?"

"Shut up, Anderson. It's important to him. He's... making some sort of map in there. The ribbon are the connections. He needs more and it has to be red. He was very adamant about that."

Mycroft immediately called over to one of the soldiers and whispered to him. He quickly left down the stairs. I hope he didn't make that man go and risk his life over some ribbon. I'm sure we can improvise with something else.

"Murphey and Thompson will head to the nearest Tescos and fetch him some ribbon, as well as other necessities as it seems we may be here for awhile." That's alright then. Bloody bastard read my mind again.

"I better tell him then. Before he makes more mess in there."

"Let me. If he's in a bad mood, it's safer to let me go in."

"Alright, be careful." John nodded with a small smile and headed towards Lock's room.


	38. Chapter 38

**Crappy and long. But at least its... long? Sorry been really busy today. Trying to think of future plot points that aren't far into the future. Such as...**

**• Conversations between Lock and Tweedledee/Tweedledum**

**• Gladstone fucks stuff up. Again.**

**• Comedy! With Mycroft.**

**• Molly helps with things.**

**• EVERYONE FUCKS OFF, To Lock's great enjoyment. (wow that...sounds wrong.)**

**• Road trip Part 2. This time...no cars allowed.**

**ENJOY?**

* * *

**JOHN**

He was pacing back and forth, across a paper strewn floor. Occasionally he would grab his head in a vice like grip and moan. Or he would kick something across the floor. I cautiously entered the room and turned around, to stare at the map on the wall. It wasn't very large, though I suspected, given the chance and more ribbon, it would increase in size. The bed was also covered in paper, most half torn. Lock kicked an empty box in frustration, it landed next to my foot.

"Feel better?"

"Yes." He hissed.

"Just checking."

I moved the box out of the way and watched Lock empty the contents of another. He removed a large, heavy book and threw it on the bed, along with his box of pencils, and clean white paper. He pushed them up the bed until they were against the pillows and placed the paper on the book. He fumbled with the clasp of the box for several minutes before turning to look at me with a panicked expression. I took pity on him and sat next to him on the bed and opened the box. He whispered a thanks and removed several different coloured pencils and threw them on the bed.

He began to draw, the pencil held awkwardly in his hand. It seemed to be a police badge of some sort. Except it was in pink. Well I'm not going to criticise. Lock nodded to himself and put the picture aside and began another one. It was a zombie or a corpse. Which is to say, both. The corpse was in a body bag, a bright orange orange one. The body was smiling. He draws, just a like a child. He doesn't care about the colour, and it's not realistic. But you know what its supposed to be. The third picture was of two hands holding with a smiley face above it. One hand was grey, the other pink. The face was bright yellow.

"Nice."

"Yes...thank y-you." He seemed pleased, but surprised by the compliment.

Lock pinned the picture of the badge between Lestrade's photo and the photos of Anderson and Donavan. The picture of the smiling corpse in the bright orange body bag went next to Molly. And the picture of the hands holding went... next to my photos. Oh Lock. That made my chest hurt, mate. I noticed, with a smug sense of satisfaction, that Mycroft did not get a picture. But then perhaps it was beyond Lock's skills to draw something that represented a brother.

"Tell me, about all this. I mean if you want to. It looks very interesting." His eyes smiled and he stood away from the wall and let himself drop onto the bed, making a happy sort of sound.

"It's...map. Mind map." He tapped his head. "I can't...memory."

"Go on, I get you."

"Lestrade is...was...DI." He pronounced it die. "Two...work f-for him." He gestured to Anderson and Donavan, he frowned at the photos.

"Yeah, with Scotland Yard."

"You.. know?"

"He told me once." Lock grabbed a red pencil and drew a line from Lestrade to me on the wall.

"M-Molly, she ...uh...work. Dead people. She..." Works with dead people? A mortician perhaps?

"A mortician?"

"Yes! She...exam..look, for.. poleese." Clearly we need to work on pronunciation. Lock would probably enjoy it.

"Got it, she examined the bodies for the police. Keep going."

"M-myc...Myc-roff. Sibling. Uh..." He shrugged. Well Mycroft did seem to keep a lot of things to himself.

"And me?"

"Friend." I grinned back at his almost anxious face. As if he thought I would dispute that fact.

"Very good, Lock. Look, Mycroft's send people out for supplies, they will look for more ribbon for you."

"Red! Red ribbon!"

"Yes I know, red ribbon. So why don't you just sit back and relax for a bit."

I sat down next to him on the bed. He drew his knees up until he could rest his elbows on them. His fingers were steepled in front of him. They twitched constantly.

"Hey, calm down. What's wrong?"

"You.. you w-will go."

"Go where?"

"W-with them."

"Oh mate. We talked about this. I have to go back. But I don't have to go with them."

"Can't go.. I c-can't."

"You don't have to. But if you like. You can accompany me there? I promise I'll come back and visit you."

He was about to respond when the was noise outside the room. The men had returned. Lock leaped off the bed and swung the door open. Well I tried. We will have this conversation eventually, Lock.

* * *

**SHERLOCK**

Think, think, think!

What else? What have I missed? Have I missed anything? What else can I add? Oh there must be more. I need more information. More data, more facts. Everything. I kicked something in frustration, narrowly missing John. John! When did he get here? How did I not notice?

"Feel better?" Exceedingly.

"Yes." I drew out the s, as long as I good. I was not in a good mood. I hadn't been in one since these...intruders arrived.

"Just checking." Good.

I turned away from him and paced once more. Perhaps pictures...maybe I can draw something to help me visualise this map. Where are my pencils? And I will need something long and flat to draw on. I threw out the contents of one of the boxes, finding a large, heavy book inside. Ah! This will do perfectly. I let it drop on the bed and removed the pencil box and papers from my bag. I sat on the bed and attempted to open the box. Argh. Zombie fingers. Wonderful. John? A little help?

He heard my silent plea and opened the box for me.

"Thanks..."

"Not a problem."

I began to draw. I started with Lestrade. What could I draw that would represent him? Ah! A police badge. Probably not accurate, but if I understand it that's all that matters. For Molly I drew a corpse in a body bag. It seemed only logical. I couldn't think of anything to draw for Mycroft. He didn't really deserve anything. But John. I could draw something that represented mine and John's connection to each other. I decided on two hands holding each other. One dead, one alive. Satisfied with them, I put down the pencils.

"Nice." That...was unexpected.

"Yes...thank y-you."

I pinned the pictures in the appropriate places and stepped back to admire my work.

"Tell me, about all this. I mean if you want to. It looks very interesting." It is interesting! It's supposed to be. I flopped onto the bed and decided to comply with John's questions.

Or tried to. Speaking, is very difficult. Sometimes the words come. Sometimes they do not. Other times I have to substitute the word. They don't always come out in the right order. Perhaps John will help me with this later. If he were to say the words, I could learn them by ear. If John would be interested in doing so, that is. I shall ask him later. John inquired about the meanings of all the pictures and I happily responded.

When it came to his picture I simply responded with...

"Friend." John smiled back at me, warming my dead heart.

"Very good, Lock. Look, Mycroft's send people out for supplies, they will look for more ribbon for you." Brilliant!

"Red! Red ribbon!" It's incredibly important. It must be red!

"Yes I know, red ribbon. So why don't you just sit back and relax for a bit." I shall try.

I sat back on the bed, half observing John, half thinking about my mind map. It was incomplete. So many things were missing, except I didn't know what they were. John sat down next to me, his feet tapping against the floor. He will leave. I told myself. Eventually, when the others go, he will follow. Because he wants to return home. And perhaps he should. If it makes him happy. Better he leave now, before he finds out I ate his friend.

I think John has picked up on my mood...

"Hey, calm down. What's wrong?" Everything.

"You.. you w-will go." You will leave me.

"Go where?"

"W-with them."

"Oh mate. We talked about this. I have to go back. But I don't have to go with them." But you will! I can't follow.

"Can't go.. I c-can't." It's too risky.

"You don't have to. But if you like. You can accompany me there? I promise I'll come back and visit you." Would you? Would you really do that for me?

There was a loud noise outside, a door closing with a thud and feet running up the staircase. The soldiers must have returned! Marvellous. Sorry John, we will have to postpone this discussion for another time. I bounded out the door and towards the kitchen.

* * *

The two men held several bags of supplies. They were of little interest to me. Lestrade and the others were sorting through them. I spotted a small pile of red ribbon, enough to last me a long time. I snatched it off the ground, without thanking the men and headed back to my room. John was leaving just as I arrived. He patted my shoulder and went to see what the men had stolen from Tescos. It wasn't as if they had run out of what John had taken, the last time. They're just greedy.

I slammed my door shut and went back to work.


	39. Chapter 39

**Sorry, just one POV today. Also any spelling or grammar mistakes made when Lock is talking...is on purpose. Its how he speaks or pronounces something, etc.**

**BETTER SPOILERS THAN PREVIOUS SPOILERS**

**• Monopoly?**

**• Scrabble with Lock and John.**

**• Everyone is kicked out of 221b.**

**• Movie timez?!**

**ENJOY**

**OR NOT**

**IM NOT YOUR MOTHER**

**...**

**OR AM I?**

* * *

**JOHN**

For the next few hours, myself and Lestrade took turns in helping, watching, stopping and entertaining Lock. For the most part, we helped with his Mind Map. He would make us fetch things from various parts of the flat and then he would either stick them to the wall or tear them in half. I tried to through the discarded paper in a bin bag but Lock would grab my hands and gently pull me outside, whisper "no" and then close the door in my face. He was more forceful with Lestrade, he didn't get a quiet no. Rather a loud one.

I had decided to keep a small journal of everything that had happened so far. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Plus, who knows? It may even be handy in learning more about Zombies like Lock? Initially, my entries were long. Until I reached my first entry for the day. Besides waking up, stitching up Lock's new wounds, introducing people and Lestrade making a breakthrough with Lock.

The rest of my entry, went something like this:

• Mycroft tried to barge into the room.

• He was thrown out of said room.

• His umbrella was confiscated.

• It was then hung from the window.

• Then later used as the finishing piece to Lock's masterpiece that was "Lets pile all the things in the room on top of each other. Yes this is a great idea, nothing can go wrong."

• Cue the whole thing falling on Lock and myself. He at least had the good manners to appear sorry.

• No, he is not doing it again.

• Lock's map is now covering two walls.

• He managed to run out of ribbon.

• We have resorted to dyeing string red.

• Lock does not approve. But too bad.

The next section was scribbled out in red pencil. Even though Lock can't read. He rightly suspects it is about him. This project of his has him on edge. New and old emotions are present. Excitement, which may or may not be new to him, anxiousness, a feeling of desperation. He MUST continue the map. He is compelled to do so and doesn't know why. At least it keeps him occupied. For the most part. When we weren't in his room, myself and Greg would sit at the kitchen table drinking tea while Mycroft did...who knows and Anderson and Donavan rediscovered a pack of cards.

I learn a lot about Greg's former life, though he dodges around the issue of Sherlock. I don't mind. I learn more about him if I want to. For the time being, I didn't mind learning more about Lestrade's life before the zombie apocalypse. I even shared a few stories of my own. Its a different sort of friendship, I think. Its certainly more adult. Unfortunately our discussion didn't last long. Lock stormed into the room, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards his bedroom.

"Hey! Easy, no need to be rough." He let go immediately and looked concerned.

"S-sorry."

"It's fine mate." I closed the door behind us.

"...wow...thats..something you go there, Lock."

A switch was flipped in his head and he leaped, or tried to, onto the bed and began to gesture wildly at his maps, his broken sentences behind rattled off at high speed. It was impossible to understand him. Poor bloke. We need to work on your speech mate. We've passed the limit of words you can say in one go. Now its speed, right order and correct words.

"Lock?"

"...yes?"

"Slow down."

"Oh...I..I..I.."

"Not that slow. I'd say deep breath but that would be rubbing it in. Start from the start."

"Ok...uh...new m-map, old map."

"Got it." He began his gesturing again, which made sense to him but not me.

"Old map, peepal now, f-from...life and...d-death."

"People from before and after you died, got it."

"New map. P-places. This..this here." He pointed the a large red pin. I was impressed, he can't read the words on the map. But he knows this is the correct location.

So.. the old map is people and the new map is places? Interesting.

"Nice."

"Nice?"

"Yes its very...nice." Not really sure where you're going with all this, Lock.

"Nice..."

"Ok, its great. It's...over my head Lock. I don't understand why you're doing all this." He frowned. Great, I've upset him.

"BEC-CAUSE!"

"Ok..calm down mate. We don't want a repeat of where you want to stick Mycroft's umbrella."

"FFFF-.."

"Profanity isn't necessary."

"BEC-CAUSE I CAN'T MEMORY! INEEDMEMORY."

"I know you do, but how is this going to help? You've been at this all day. What are you trying to accomplish?" Why do you need to remember?

"I need...know more. Is this...all?"

"All what?" He gestured to himself. Oh mate.

"I want..like you."

"I know mate. But I thought you were happy as you were."

"YES! B-but...frustate -iiiing."

"I understand. I think you will keep getting better, Lock. But it can't happen overnight."

"Oh really."

"Ok, yes you've progressed a lot in a short space of time. But it's slowed down hasn't it. Give things time. Take a break. Come on, we will...play a game or I could teach you to read or..anything, but whats in this room right now."

I waited for his brain to process what I'd said. I expected him to dismiss it, but to my surprise he nodded and slowly climbed off the bed and followed me out of the room.

That was almost too easy.

He must be up to something.


End file.
